Rain and Lightning
by Lemonbreeze
Summary: The journey of Brianna Storm, formerly of West Harbor, who makes her path somewhere in that gray zone between light and darkness. Now: Chapter 70. Brianna finds herself once again working for the Watch. As usual, things don't go quite as planned.
1. Thunderstorm

**Thunderstorm**

Regaining consciousness after a blow to the head felt very much like being submerged under water and struggling towards the surface with only a very vague idea where "up" was. At least that was how it seemed to Brianna. She'd broken through the surface to find the smell of hay in her nose and the taste of blood in her mouth, and little else at first. Now she lay there waiting for her other senses to return.

She knew from prior experience that it was a very bad idea to try and sit up as soon as she felt able to. Last time she'd tried that, the pain had gotten so bad so fast that she'd puked her guts out just from the shock of it. This time, she tried to take careful inventory of her body instead.

Her head was a mess, she knew that already. It would take days for the headaches to stop. Her lips felt numb, they were probably swollen, but the fact that she was able to draw breath through her nose was good news. Nothing broken there, at least.

The raising and lowering of her chest stung with every breath, though not excruciatingly so. She knew she'd taken a few kicks to the ribs, and while they'd certainly be bruised, they didn't seem broken. She raised her right arm very slowly and carefully and felt along the side of her ribs. Yes, only bruised, thank the gods. She slid her hand lower, reluctantly so. Her thighs were a wet, sticky mess. There was an abundance of welts and bruises on the tender skin, and Brianna shuddered involuntarily. Part of her was simply relieved to have been unconscious during the assault.

_The hells with it_, she thought, and finally opened her eyes.

The world was dark. She could hear something that might have been thunder in the distance, nothing more. After several moments she could make out the roof of a barn some way above her. _Not hard to figure that out, given that hay smell._

Her body was sluggish as she sat up. The world kept spinning in and out of focus, like it wanted to play a game of hide and seek. She was patient with it despite herself. Not that she would have been terribly broken up about emptying her stomach contents into someone's haystack, but she simply wasn't sure her body could take it.

She slowly lowered her head, just enough so she could look down her own body. She was a mess. _Clothes?_ she wondered, looking around in a carefully measured motion. She was relieved to discover her leggings and tunic in a messy pile nearby, torn but not destroyed. They'd be good enough to cover her. Once she could stand up, she'd be able to make her way back home like this. And she hoped fervently that it was late enough so nobody would see her.

* * *

The steaming hot water stung in the multitude of cuts on her skin. Brianna grit her teeth as she lowered herself into the tub, telling herself that the stinging would stop soon enough. The weather outside had worsened rapidly, though the rain thankfully hadn't started until after she had made it back home. Now, the frequent lightning bolts crossing the sky and a solitary candle were the only things illuminating her room as Brianna concentrated on cleaning herself. She took soap and a piece of cloth to her body right away, eager to rid herself of the memories of cruel hands and foul breath that seemed to linger on her skin. In the middle of scrubbing herself, she began to shake.

"Hells," she said under her breath, clumsily trying to finish the task but failing miserably. She dropped the cloth and hugged her knees to her chest. The emotion she'd been trying to keep at bay, that certain feeling she always had, after, was welling up inside her full force now. She hated herself for letting it when the sobs finally tore out of her, and she rested her head on her knees and let it all consume her, the hatred, the disgust, most of all the dreaded knowledge that it would happen again.

Wyl was getting more and more brutal. Two years ago, when he had taken her for the first time, he had finished mercifully fast. He'd forced a kiss on her and left her crying, sprawled in the grass, her skirts around her waist. But lately he had taken to enjoying her misery, and to inflicting pain. She wondered whether he'd discovered this penchant for sadism during those last two years, or whether he was simply growing more and more bold with her, now that he had gotten away with it for so long.

Damn him. And damn herself, for being such an easy target.

Brianna brought her arms down in a sudden surge of anger, splashing water. She groped blindly for the cake of soap in the now discolored water and began to drag it over her skin, scrubbing like mad.

She was furious at herself for getting caught again. A single damn moment of inattentiveness, and she'd found herself alone with Wyl by the river, stumbling hard over a branch when she'd turned to run. Of all the moments to be a clumsy idiot…

The soap nearly slipped out of her hand, so forceful were her motions now. She was shaking with barely suppressed fury, at anyone who'd had a hand in her current misery. Wyl, for being the thrice-damned bastard he was. All of West Harbor, for thinking she was and had never been anything but a liar. Her foster father, who seemed to feel nothing but disappointment that she was not growing up to be the kind of person he wanted her to be. And finally herself, for deserving what was coming to her, for not having the strength to stand up to Wyl and his sadistic games, and for having the rare talent of antagonizing an entire town to the point where they had all turned their backs on her.

_Damn them all_, she thought wildly, and flung the cake of soap through the air. It hit the wall with a thud and cracked in two, and the pieces clattered to the floor.

"Brianna?"

_Oh hells, not now. Not now. _

"I am taking a bath, Daeghun." Her voice was raspy from crying.

"I need to speak with you when you are finished," he told her through the closed door.

Well, that was new. Her foster father didn't often speak to her these days. Certainly it was an easy task for him to realize that something had happened to her, but he generally didn't seem to care. He treated her with the same indifference that had marked their relationship for as long as she could remember, and the only time he had done any different was the one time she had tried to run away.

It occurred to her that he might be worried about her trying to run again. It was certainly a tempting thought, but with Daeghun on her trail, she knew that she wasn't going to get far.

With a sigh Brianna stood and reached for her towel. The water was getting cold anyway. She dried herself and dressed in fresh clothes, folding the torn ones carefully. She would have to wash and mend them later. For now, she would have whatever talk Daeghun insisted on having, and after that fall into her bed.

She took another sip of the healing potion she had taken out of Daeghun's trunk before bathing, and then slowly started making her way downstairs. She knew he would probably be upset about her using it, and usually she would have taken care of her injuries by non-magical means, but she was worried about the pain in her head. The throbbing had slowly ebbed away now, which she was thankful for. Nothing like having to listen to her foster father while her head felt like it was being split open.

She caught sight of her reflection passing the mirror that hung by the stair landing as lightning streaked through the sky. Her mouth went dry. She stopped for a moment and, once another lightning bolt appeared, touched a finger to her split lip. It was a dark, ugly sore in her pale face, testament to her own weakness. Gods, how she hated the girl in the mirror.

Daeghun was standing by the hearth when she entered the living area downstairs. He turned, and she felt his sharp gaze on her face as she stood there with downcast eyes.

"You wanted to speak with me?"

"What happened to you?" he asked, and she barely suppressed a sigh. She knew only too well that he wasn't asking for her sake, but to soothe his own conscience.

"I fell," she said, and that was that.

There was a long moment of silence. Brianna finally looked up and discovered that he had turned towards the fire, apparently deep in thought. She wondered whether that meant she was dismissed already.

"I have been… thinking," he said just as she had made up her mind and turned to go. "I am worried about you, Brianna."

Surprised, she turned back. His voice was as distant as ever, but for him that was a regular outburst of emotion.

"You don't need to be worried about me."

"Yet I am," Daeghun said. He looked tense and uncomfortable. "Things must change."

_What in the hells does he mean by that?_

"Things are fine," she said tiredly. "I am fine."

"I have made some arrangements," he said.

_He what?_

She stared and waited, but he would not elaborate. How very typical.

"We will talk more in the morning, I think," he said. "For now, get the rest you need."

"Good night," she said blankly, and walked back up the stairs, wondering.

Before finally going to sleep she sat on her window sill for a good while, wrapped in her blanket and staring out into the night. The view was just as bleak and empty as she felt inside.


	2. Harvest

**Harvest**

Brianna hated the Harvest Fair. Just as she didn't like West Harbor, West Harbor didn't like her, and she had better things to do than to mingle when the only things she was getting by way of greeting were looks of deep distrust and resentment. Every year she would duck away and spend the day by herself, usually up in her room, reading. This time, however, she was being unceremoniously dragged right into the middle of celebrations.

"C'mon Bree!" Amie called cheerfully. "You don't want to miss it, do you?"

Fact was, Brianna very much _did_ want to miss it. There was no getting that through to the smiling blond girl that had grasped her arm, though, and so she let herself be pulled across the bridge and towards the village square. A small group of children was crowding around Georg, who supervised the Harvest Cup challenges as every year, and Amie strode towards him with an excited smile, pulling Brianna along.

"Here to sign up, Georg," she said, and Brianna choked on a sudden feeling of dread. She'd resigned herself to walking around the fair, buying overpriced sweets, even having to dance if anyone had the idiotic idea to ask her. But nobody had warned her that her new _friends_ had their mind set on competing for that damned harvest cup.

"Ye'll need a team of three to compete," Georg reminded them, turning his head. "Where's the Starling boy, then?"

"He'll be right here," Amie said brightly, and she stood on her tiptoes, waving her free arm. "Heya, Bevil!"

Brianna sighed quietly as they waited for the broad-shouldered boy to make his way through the crowd. Bevil Starling and Amie Fern had been the "arrangement" Daeghun had spoken to her about nearly three months ago. When she had come downstairs the next morning after that talk, they had been waiting for her, smiling awkwardly.

The two of them were among West Harbor's best-liked youths. She knew they weren't mean-spirited, but she had still stared at them in horror when she had realized that Daeghun had just made her into a charity case.

Pretty much every day since then she had spent in Bevil's and Amie's company, for better or worse. She had little in common with them, but they had been unfailingly nice to her, accepting her pessimism and reluctance to socialize. She, in turn, had gotten used to Bevil's naivety and Amie's optimism and kept most of her sharp comments to herself. And, charity case or not, she had found some distinct advantages in not being alone all the time.

However, that didn't stop her from cringing when she saw her name being scrawled on Georg's list, along with those of her disgustingly cheerful companions.

"And we're off!" Amie squealed, pulling the two others along with her towards the fun. "Oh, I just know we're going to win this year!"

Brianna wondered what she had done to deserve this.

They weaved through the crowd of farmers and excited children, Amie steering them energetically towards their first stop in the Harvest Cup competition, the aptly named Tourney of Talent. Here, a crowd of children sat in a circle, expecting entertainment, and Amie walked in their midst encouraged by loud cheers. Brianna got comfortable on the ground off to the side. This wasn't her show. She was glad all the attention was on Amie, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it even as she frowned in concentration.

It wasn't really fair, Brianna reflected, to allow the one girl in West Harbor who'd been studying magic to compete against the sons and daughters of farmers, who couldn't hope to come up with an act that could garner the same kind of attention as a show of the arcane arts. Then again, she wasn't one to bemoan a lack of fairness in a contest she cared nothing about.

She ripped out a blade of grass and twirled it around her fingers as she watched. Amie was muttering something and moving her arms gracefully, causing her audience to hold their breaths. Some seconds later, the air in front of Amie became solid and shaped itself into a live wolf. Quite a few of the children rushed forward to pet the summoned animal.

"Don't try this with one I didn't summon," Amie warned with a laugh on her face. She turned towards Bevil and Brianna. "I was going to enlarge someone next…"

"Don't look at me," Brianna shuddered. "Magic makes me itch."

"Bevil, then." Amie waved her best friend forward, and after another wave of her hand, Bevil had suddenly just about doubled in size. Brianna peered up at the farm boy. This bit of magic really was quite impressive.

The children oh'd and ah'd and applauded, while Bevil stood rooted to the spot until the spell had worn off again. Brianna thought she knew why. Bevil wasn't the most graceful of people when he was normal sized. With a body twice as large as he was used to, he was bound to cause some sort of accident.

"Alright there, Bevil?" she asked, and he grinned down at her.

"Well enough. Archery's next, I think."

"Are you going to win that for us, Bevil?" Amie had walked over to join them, her face positively glowing. "You did well enough last year, getting third place!"

Brianna got to her feet just as she realized Bevil was looking at her.

"You know, Bree's got really good eyes," he said.

Brianna raised her eyebrows.

_Well, I suppose that's true. It's about all I'm good for, too._

"Yeah, I'll do it," she agreed.

_Wait, what did I just say?_

* * *

It had been a while since she'd shot a crossbow. The one she was holding now was old and scratched, but functional. She weighed it in her hands and ran her fingers over the trigger, trying to get a feeling for the weapon. Next to her, Daeghun was counting out ten bolts for her to use. He was as calm and distant as always, though Brianna thought she saw his mouth tighten momentarily when he handed her the bolts. Daeghun, after all, was the one who'd taught her how to shoot. Even if he would never admit it, he was bound to be curious about her performance, she figured.

"Ten shots, ten targets," she heard him say impassively. She turned towards the bottles he had set up on a group of crates. Glass fragments were littered in the grass around them from previous contestants who'd been successful. Brianna took a deep breath. She should be able to do well enough, but it _had_ been a long time.

"Five is the best score so far," Daeghun informed her. She nodded and raised the crossbow, taking aim at the first bottle and trying to breathe evenly.

"I got four last year," Bevil piped up helpfully. The gasp that followed his statement told Brianna that Amie had elbowed their clueless friend in the ribs. She narrowed her eyes and took aim again, exhaled, and let the first bolt fly.

Ten bolts later, Brianna wasn't the only one who was surprised.

"A perfect score," Bevil was saying, awestruck. "Gods Bree, that's… amazing!"

"You've won us this one!" Amie squealed. "Why didn't you say you could shoot like that? Everyone would have wanted you on their team years ago!"

_That might have been exactly the reason why I never said anything. Apart from the fact that I didn't have any idea I could do this, myself._

She handed the crossbow back to Daeghun, who was letting himself get carried away by the excitement of her companions.

"Fine shooting, my daughter," he said stiffly. She nodded, just as stiffly, and turned back to Amie and Bevil.

"What's next? Will Bevil win us the pie-eating contest?"

"I think we'll have to look for three feathers that were hidden throughout the fair," said Amie brightly.

_Oh, you've got to be kidding me._

* * *

"Are you _sure_ we can't just… take it?"

"Bevil," Brianna said, exasperated. "Shut up. Yes, I'm sure. Unless you're dying to get hurt."

She was half-laying under a termite-ridden stack of firewood, frowning with concentration as she peeked at the vividly blue-colored feather that was sticking out between pieces of wood from beneath. A thin wire was wrapped around the quill, and Brianna had no doubt that something rather nasty would happen if she simply attempted to pull the feather out of the whole contraption.

"You aren't having any fun, are you?" Amie's voice sounded regretful. She seemed to have finally noticed that Brianna's mood was not on par with the rest of them.

"I'm getting you the damn feather, aren't I?" Brianna lowered her hands and glowered at the other two. "I need a dagger. Or something with a sharp point, at least."

"What for? It's just a feather!" Bevil still didn't get it. Amie, however, put a soothing hand on her friend's shoulder and crouched.

"Will this do? I was going to use it for roasting apples later, but…"

Brianna nodded and took the tiny blade Amie was offering. Its hilt was wrapped with a strip of leather, and Brianna was careful not to touch the metal itself as she eased the feather out of the wire loop, bit by bit. Sparks flew every time the blade touched the wire, and Bevil's eyes went wide when he finally seemed to notice them.

"As you said," Amie smiled, bumping him with her shoulder. "She's got good eyes."

Brianna handed the feather to Bevil without comment. It had been the last of the feathers still missing, the first one having been found by a snot-nosed child, the second by Ward Mossfeld bashing open some chest. The three-way tie in this challenge would keep them in the running.

"Only one challenge left!" Bevil marched ahead, brandishing the feather like a sword before him. Amie hung back and helped Brianna to her feet.

"Bree, thank you," she said. She looked quite serious all of a sudden, her face devoid of the smile she'd been wearing all day. Brianna dusted herself off and raised her eyebrows at the other girl.

"I know Bevil and I… we aren't much like you. I know you would rather be elsewhere right now, and I appreciate you going along with all of this."

Well, that was rather more candid than she was used to from Amie. Brianna just shrugged and turned to go after Bevil, but then looked back at the other girl in a rare flash of consideration.

"It's not as bad as I was expecting," she confessed. "And it's nice that I can actually be of help, you know."

The smile was back on Amie's face in an instant.

"You know, when Daeghun first asked us to… well, I wasn't all for it, but you can be really nice, you know. I wish more people in West Harbor knew that."

Amie didn't wait for an answer, which was well enough because Brianna had no clue how to reply to this outburst of emotion.

"So, what is left?" she asked instead. Amie linked arms with her like it was normal for them to do so, and they walked together towards the village green.

"The brawl is all," the other girl said. "Bevil is really good at it, and…" She turned.

Brianna had stopped, her eyes wide.

"Oh, no." she said. "No way."

Standing there smirking at her, club in hand and flanked by his two younger brothers, was Wyl Mossfeld. H eyes were glittering dangerously as he looked at her.

_No. No no no. __No way in the hells. _

"Well, well, if it isn't Brianna Storm," the oldest of the Mossfelds drawled. "Long time no see."

It was an innocent enough statement to the ears of Brother Merring, who was overseeing the brawl, but Brianna knew exactly what the bastard meant by it. She felt numb.

"Think you can beat me, Storm?" Wyl cocked his head, a sneer on his face. Brianna felt as though his gaze was ripping the clothes right off of her, and she took an involuntary step back. Her breathing was suddenly ragged, her cheeks burning.

_Please no, not again…_

Suddenly Amie was next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders, and Bevil was on the other side of her.

"Scared, Mossfeld?" Amie's voice rang bright and clear. Wyl's eyes snapped up at her. He looked alarmed.

"What, scared of you?" he spat. "Do I look like my name's B-B-Bevil?"

"Stow it, Mossfeld. You're not smart enough to be funny." Amie's voice could have cut through glass. Brianna desperately willed for her mind to start working again. How was it that Amie had all the good retorts? Wyl, however, was spitting at the other girl's feet.

"Shut it, you ratty little orphan. Stupid magic tricks is all you're good for."

"We'll see about that in the brawl, shall we?" Amie turned so fast her skirts were flying, dragging Brianna and Bevil with her.

Brianna felt like she'd been punched in the gut. Gods, why did she have to be so pathetic, facing him? She hated that he could make her brain freeze up like nothing, leaving her helpless.

"I'm not facing him," she said weakly, once they were out of earshot.

"Wyl Mossfeld is nothing but a piece of garbage," Amie said. "Don't let him intimidate you."

"I won't," Brianna mumbled.

_It's not that easy when he's on top of me, pinning me down and…_

Her knees nearly buckled when Bevil handed her a club, the only sort of weapon they were allowed to use in the brawl.

_Gods, I really am pathetic. Why the fuck am I doing this?_

She barely registered being ushered into the fenced-off brawler's arena along with her friends. The club weighed heavily in her hands. Amie's jaw was clenched and she seemed just as tense as Brianna felt, while Bevil appeared to treat this as nothing more than his routine militia training.

_Is he actually doing his _stretches_?_

Wielding a club wasn't as easily done for Brianna as the crossbow had been. She was not particularly strong, and she knew her only advantage would come from moving fast, and evading attacks before one of the Mossfeld brothers had a chance to bash her upside the head. Once the signal to start had been given, she held back while Bevil charged ahead, engaging Ward.

Wyl, however, was coming straight for her. Her heart was pounding as she faced him.

She was faster than him and managed to secure a hit on his arm. It might as well not have happened, as well as he shrugged it off. He countered and swung his club towards her side, and Brianna doubled over as he landed the blow. She hit the ground on all fours, effectively helpless. Bevil panted and Ward Mossfeld swore terribly, Amie yelped, there was a crack, and then the pain exploded in Brianna's head and she knew nothing else for a good while.


	3. Stolen Luck

**Stolen Luck**

"...and Georg had me thinking it was Pixies, so I started looking for telltale pixie dust all over after training! Of course once Georg figured that out, he went to Tarmas and…"

Brianna was laughing. It didn't happen often, and she surprised herself by giggling along to Bevil's story. They were sitting against an outside wall of the Starling barn, telling stories and sipping on harvest mead. The chill of the evening air was held off by the nearby bonfire, around which the children were roasting apples and bread. All in all, she found this to be a very pleasant end to the day.

It hadn't taken Brother Merring very long to heal her head and for her to regain consciousness after the fight. Bevil and Amie, miraculously, had managed to defeat the Mossfelds even without her, and she had woken up just to be dragged to a victory celebration.

She looked over at her comrades. Bevil was still talking animatedly. He had slipped one arm around Amie, who did not seem to mind this show of affection. On the contrary, she was leaning contently against his shoulder as he talked. Bree wondered whether those two being more than friends might change her own friendship with them.

The thought hovered there for a moment before her eyes snapped open wide.

_Friends. I really do have friends. Huh. _

Fact was, she was beginning to really appreciate the two of them instead of just tolerating them. Amie had a quick mind, much like Brianna herself liked to think she had when the likes of Wyl Mossfeld didn't make her freeze up. Bevil, though not as quick-witted, was good company, and she had gotten used to him being a bit slow on the uptake on occasion. He had brawn instead, as he had proven beyond a doubt in the brawl. Beyond that, she had realized today that the people of West Harbor seemed to look at her with slightly less skeptical eyes when she was in company of the other two. Bevil's mother Retta had even given her a smile and asked whether she "still made up these wonderful stories".

_Whether I still make up lies about everything under sun is what you meant, Retta. _

Daeghun's plan had ended up working the way he had intended, she realized. Life was tolerable now, enough so that she likely wouldn't try to run again in the near future. She still couldn't picture herself marrying the likes of Bevil and starting a family or any of that nonsense, the kind of thing Amie seemed to be hoping for. She was pretty sure that her own idea of a fulfilling life didn't include a small village surrounded by swamp land. The thing was, she wasn't quite sure what it _did_ include. And she had a feeling that, as long as she stayed in West Harbor, she wouldn't have a chance to find out.

She had heard the saying that the people who made a living surrounded by the Mere of Dead Men were considered tough, stubborn and above all, steadfast. _Lived a Harborman, died a harborman_, went the saying. It was difficult to leave the swamp behind when it was all one was accustomed to. Much as she disliked West Harbor, Brianna was used to its rhythm, to the presence of the Mere. She knew where the worst dangers lay and what it meant when the water changed color, she was familiar with the sounds of the swamp and its inhabitants. To be away from all of it had to be disorienting. She was afraid of that, of becoming too complacent and missing her chance to make her path elsewhere. As long as Daeghun wanted her to stay, she had no choice but to stay, but her foster father could not keep her here forever. She just hoped that, once he did decide to let her go, she would know to seize her opportunity. Whenever that might be.

"Let's go for a harvest run!"

Bree snapped out of her thoughts to the sound of Amie's voice. A few of the farm girls were already gathering around her, squealing their approval.

"A harvest run! Brilliant idea, Amie!" someone cheered.

Brianna had never been on a harvest run before, though she knew what they were all about. Running through seven different fields and plucking seven different flowers was supposed to guarantee good luck until the next harvest, but it had to be done by girls, who had to hurry before the boys caught up to them and stole their luck. A harvest run was supposed to be done at dusk, which was already past, but Amie cleverly cast a light spell on a branch so they would be able to see. Before Brianna could think, she was running after Amie along with four other girls, hair flying, laughing infectiously, making for the first field.

* * *

The run was swift, and Brianna realized with some surprise that Amie, who was as much of a bookworm as she was herself, was setting a fast pace and holding it. Brianna herself started gasping halfway, and she was not the only one. Salina Redfell next to her nearly dropped her flowers as she strained to keep running, her face glowing red.

"Slow down , Amie," another girl called. "The boys are nowhere in sight and we've only two more fields to go.

Amie relented, dropping back next to Brianna as the group of girls slowed to a brisk walk. She looked very pretty with her blond hair shining in the magical light of the branch and her cheeks flushed a healthy pink. With some regret, Brianna thought about how nobody would ever be saying the same of her after she'd been running. She knew without looking in a mirror that her face was red with strain and her unruly hair was most likely sticking out wildly in all directions.

"A lovely evening, is it not?" Amie was smiling at her. Bree wondered what had prompted the other girl to be stating such an obvious fact, but she bit her tongue and simply nodded.

"I was wondering something." Amie grasped her hand and they fell back a little, until they were just out of earshot of the other girls if they talked quietly. "You saw Bevil…"

"Course I did," Bree nodded. "What about it?"

"Well, I was wondering… do you think I, well, is it a bad idea?" Amie was stumbling over her words. Bree raised her eyebrows.

"You're asking _me_ that?"

"We are friends, aren't we?" Amie sounded a bit hurt.

_Oh, yes, antagonize the only one here who's been kind to me, shall I?_

"I didn't mean it like that," she said quickly. "It's just that I wouldn't know much about this sort of thing, would I?"

"I just want to know what you think." Amie sighed. "Bevil is kind and all, but he, well…"

"He's not the sharpest sword in the smithy," Brianna said without thinking. Amie's loud laughter took her by surprise.

"Yes, exactly. But I like him, and…"

She was cut off when one of the girls ahead of them screamed.

"They're coming! They're coming!"

Then they heard rowdy, male hooting and laughter from their left, and all of the girls started screaming and running in a wild frenzy. Amie and Brianna were still holding hands, dragging each other along, but then someone large and solid tackled Amie and knocked her off her feet. She squeaked and screamed and Brianna could hear Bevil's badly suppressed laughter even before she turned towards her friends. And then she saw them both, the magically glowing branch illuminating their faces as they lay in the field. They were looking at each other, their expressions suggesting that they'd forgotten all about Brianna. She saw them kiss timidly, clumsily, and suddenly felt very much like she was intruding.

She stumbled backwards, disoriented now that there was no more light to lead her across the field. In the distance she heard more screams and squeaks, giggles and shouts, but nobody seemed to be interested in stopping her own harvest run. It seemed that her sudden acceptance was limited to the times when Bevil and Amie were with her. Nobody in West Harbor wanted to have anything to do with her when she was without them.

With a shrug, she figured that a bit of luck for the next year couldn't hurt, and so she sped up to a run again. There was the rest of this field and then another, and one more flower to pick in between the two. Might as well finish what she had started.

She was in between fields when someone was suddenly next to her. She felt herself grabbed round the waist and lifted, and for a moment she was naïve enough to think one of the boys might be playing the harvest run game with her after all. Then she stumbled hard and fell to the ground with the other's weight pulling her down. A hand covered her mouth roughly, a body shifted to hold her down. The motion was too familiar. Her insides felt as though they'd been turned to ice.

"Hey Storm," Wyl's voice was pure acid as he pressed himself against her, one hand already forcing its way through her layers of clothes. "I'm thinking you owe me one."

* * *

Amie found her much later as she was sitting by the river. She had her head propped on her knees and was staring into the dark water impassively. The moon was in full bloom by now, and a cool wind had risen to combat the humidity so common to the Mere.

"Bree? I was wondering where you went!" The other girl was out of breath, and there was an undertone of bliss in her voice as she spoke. "Bevil and I, we, um…"

She giggled freely. Brianna closed her eyes, willing Amie to shut up, to turn away and leave her. Amie wouldn't do her that favor, dropping into the grass next to her instead.

"Gods, I can't believe it happened. It just happened, and, oh Bree, I was wondering if you had ever…"

Amie broke off suddenly. Brianna hoped that the other girl would have realized by now that she didn't feel like talking. She might feel insulted that Brianna didn't care about her and Bevil's roll in the hay or wherever it had ended up happening, but at least Brianna would be left by herself, and that was all that mattered to her now. There was a long moment of silence.

"What happened to you?" Amie asked softly. Her tone was very different now, full of concern. Brianna opened her eyes and turned her head back to her friend. Amie had cast a light spell on yet another branch, and she gasped as she caught sight of Brianna's face. Brianna had fought more desperately than ever before this time, but Wyl had been in a hurry. A black eye was the worst of it among a few scratches to her face, but it was apparently enough to unsettle Amie.

"I fell," she said.

"You got all that from _falling_?" Amie asked incredulously. "There's no way, Brianna."

_Apparently, it's time I use that universally hated talent of mine again. _

"One of the boys caught me, just before the last field." _This far it's even the truth_. "He was… a bit rougher with me than necessary, and his elbow caught me to the face. I don't think he meant to hurt me though."

"That doesn't excuse this." Amie's cool hand brushed the tender skin around her eye. Who was it?"

"I don't know. It was too dark to see. You had the branch, remember?"

Brianna had figured out a long time ago that a subtle dose of guilt worked wonders in keeping just about anyone from asking too many questions. It worked on Amie like a charm.

"Oh Bree, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" The other girl moved closer and put her arm around Brianna's shoulders. "I should have stayed with you. Bevil and I both should have. I'm sorry. We were so selfish. And your clothes are torn – here, let me mend them."

"Don't worry about it," Brianna muttered, but Amie had already whispered a spell and the tears and holes in her tunic were knitting themselves back together. Brianna felt a prickling sensation where the magic touched her skin, and rubbed over the spots with her fingertips. There was just something about arcane power that made her feel funny.

"Thanks," she said.

For a long while, they were both quiet. Amie was likely contemplating Bevil, which left Brianna free to wonder how in the hells she would ever manage to escape Wyl Mossfeld's clutches. She had thought - dared to hope, really - that he might have given up on her, now that she wasn't usually to be caught alone anymore. But he had simply been biding his time. And now she felt sullied and dirty again, so disgusted with herself her stomach churned. His seed was half dry on her thighs, and her mouth still held the foul taste of that kiss he had forced on her, his tongue so deep in her mouth she had gagged from it.

She hoped Amie wouldn't notice the quiet tears that were running down her cheeks now. Turning towards her, Brianna realized that she needn't have worried because something else had caught Amie's attention, across the river by the village square.

"There is smoke," Amie said almost dreamily, and then her voice was suddenly sharper as she snapped out of her reverie. "Brianna, there is smoke! Something is wrong!"

Brianna couldn't have cared less if someone's barn was on fire. Right now she didn't care about anything much. She simply shrugged, half-hoping that Amie would leave to investigate and let her sit alone with her thoughts for a while.

But then the screams reached her ear, along with the ringing sounds of metal meeting metal. Her eyes went wide. Something was _very_ wrong indeed.

She turned, just in time to see someone run towards them along the river.

"Amie? Bree?" It was Bevil's voice, thick with suppressed panic, and they both jumped to their feet and rushed to reach him.

"Thank the gods I found you," he panted. "We're under attack. West Harbor is under attack."


	4. Acrid

**Acrid**

It was as though reality had shattered, and merged with some fiery hell in order to preserve itself. The smoke was thick in Brianna's eyes. There was chaos all around them, shouts and fighting, blood and death. Her hand tightly gripped the dagger Bevil had thrust at her as soon as it had become obvious that there wasn't going to be a way for the three of them to avoid fighting. She'd had to use it twice already, but luckily, both times they'd outnumbered their attackers – dark-skinned dwarfs that had come at them with nothing but malice in their eyes. Bevil had taken the brunt of the attacks while trying to shield both Amie and Brianna, before he had left them in a spot that seemed relatively safe to try and find help. The girls were clutching each other's arms now, both of them trying to master their fear.

A child screamed as yet another house was consumed by the flames. In the distance they could see the its outline and hear the ominous noise of straining wood before the structure collapsed, sending sparks flying into the air. The smell of burnt flesh entered Brianna's nostrils, making her stomach turn. She bit her lip, trying to stay calm and alert in case they were spotted. The "calm" part was giving her distinct trouble.

"By the gods," Amie breathed next to her. "They are burning the children alive. They are…"

A twig snapped next to them. Brianna spun and raised her dagger, covering Amie so the girl could get a spell off if necessary.

"It's me." Bevil was coughing as he appeared out of the night, his face smeared with soot. "Did you see the… the _things_ that are attacking us? The tall ones? I don't know what they are, I just…" He caught himself, then, and took a deep breath. He seemed beyond rattled.

"I found Brother Merring, and Georg is trying to rally the militia by the bridge. He wouldn't even have let me leave if I hadn't told him I was going to get the two of you."

Brianna tentatively lowered her dagger.

"Georg is a moron," she stated, before inhaling smoke and promptly coughing. "He'll never get everyone together before all of West Harbor is burnt to the ground," she choked out.

"It's the only chance we have, though." Bevil wiped his face with his sleeve. "We have to help. Brother Merring gave me some moss, here…" He held out his hand, revealing something dried and dark green. "Staunches bleeding. Helps with the pain, too. He can't heal people as fast as they are getting injured, so he said this might buy him some time. Asked me to help out anyone I found that was badly hurt."

"I'll do it." Brianna grabbed the moss out of his hand before he could protest, stowing it in a pocket of her tunic.

_Better to help healing folks than to be sent to fight in the front line. I'm not much of a fighter, but I bet Georg wouldn't think twice about sending me first against the intruders anyway._

"What now?" Amie asked. She had gripped Bevil's arm. Her face was pale, but determined. "How can we help?"

"Let's make our way to the bridge. We'll be safer with the others. I'll go first, come on!"

Bevil raised the sword he had procured from somewhere and, grasping Amie's hand, turned towards the fiery chaos. Brianna followed, clutching her dagger. Her heart was beating wildly and her mind screamed at her that this was crazy. She was not planning on losing her life defending a village she cared nothing about. In fact, the smartest thing for the three of them to do right now was probably to just make a run for it, to hide in the depths of the swamp until it was all over.

Tall, strange-looking figures were moving through the village accompanied by the dark dwarves, cutting down everyone they came across. Brianna's mind churned. There was something familiar about them, she was sure she'd read about them somewhere before, but she couldn't figure out where. They stayed hidden as much as they could, and several times Brianna had to grip Bevil hard by the arm to prevent him from running straight into one of the intruders.

They stumbled across Lazlo Buckman just north of the village green. The man was clutching a gash in his side that was bleeding freely. He looked up at them with pleading eyes, and Brianna wondered for a moment why Bevil and Amie were looking at her so expectantly. Then she remembered, and hastily pressed the moss to Lazlo's injury.

It took long minutes before Lazlo seemed to be doing better. They sat by him, waiting, their eyes darting around nervously, expecting attackers to emerge from the smoke-filled air any moment. Finally Lazlo was able to move. He was still shaky on his feet, having lost quite a bit of blood, but be waved away Bevil's offer to steady him.

"Can you make it to the bridge?" Amie asked him. "Brother Merring can be of assistance to you there, and once you're better you can fight again."

Lazlo nodded.

"I'll be doing that. Thanks, you lot."

He was gone before they could say another word. Brianna shook her head, amazed at the madness that could lead an injured man to re-enter combat for another chance to lose his precious life. She'd never understand it.

"Keep going," Bevil said. "The longer we stay here, the more likely we'll be cut down, too."

He was right, and Brianna barely took the time to stow the moss in her pocket again before stumbling after the other two. They had half-crossed the village green when Brianna heard someone moan in the shadows to her right. Someone was laying there…"

"Tarmas!" Amie gasped.

Brianna was about to disagree when she realized that Amie wasn't referring to the prone figure she had noticed. Her friends were already moving, sprinting across the green towards Amie's mentor in the arcane arts, who seemed to be engaged in a magical duel with one of the creatures who had invaded West Harbor. Both of them seemed enveloped in dancing magical lights, and both of them were madly casting spell after spell.

"Master, hold on!" Amie was calling. "We can help!"

Bree shook her head at them. None of them would be of proper use in a wizard's duel – either Tarmas could handle himself against the mage intruder, or he couldn't, and if the latter was the case, Amie's clumsy assistance wouldn't be able to turn the tide for him anyway.

She left Bevil and Amie to find that out for themselves and turned, narrowing her eyes at the shadows. She'd been right about a human laying there, apparently grievously injured.

The prone shape turned its head, and Brianna's breath caught in her throat. She almost laughed out loud when she realized who was laying there, bleeding.

"Wyl Mossfeld."

Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, and there was a strange fluttering in the pit of her stomach as she approached him. He caught sight of her and his eyes widened.

_Yes, you'd better be afraid, Wyl. You'd better be afraid._

He looked very different, so helpless and in so much pain before her. She knelt down next to him, touching a finger to his injured shoulder. It had been pierced by some weapon several times, and his tunic from the elbow up was soaked in dark red blood.

"Well now. They got you good, didn't they, Wyl?" She surprised herself with how steady her voice sounded. He had no way to hurt her right now. He was helpless, and she was not afraid of him anymore. The tables had turned.

"Brianna…" Wyl said. His eyes were wide with fear now, and his mouth was forming words he had no strength to say. She knew her calm demeanor had spooked him. She steadied her shaking hand and moved it to cup and stroke his cheek, leaving a bloody streak on his skin.

"Yes, Wyl?" she asked.

"…please…"

She sighed and bit her lip.

"I can help you Wyl. Under one condition."

He nodded, looking up at her expectantly.

"I need you to say you're sorry for what you did to me. And that you'll never do it again."

_I'm going to give you hope, Wyl. Just like you gave me hope. And then I'll take it away._

He nodded. His eyes were still fearful, but they had lost the expression of wide panic. She watched as he summoned the last of his strenght.

"…sorry, so sorry… never again…" he choked, then he drew a raspy, desperate breath. His eyes were pleading now.

"It's alright, Wyl," she said. "It's alright. I have swamp moss here, from Brother Merring. It stops the bleeding, takes away the pain, too."

Finally, his face relaxed. He was vulnerable, trusting as he looked at her expectantly.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Brianna forced a smile on her face and shook her head.

"Oh, don't thank me, Wyl. I'm not going to use it on you."

The panic flared up in his eyes again, just as she pressed both hands to his chest and sat atop him in one fluid motion, stradling him, making a mockery of the act he had forced upon her so many times. She stared down at his face, at his mouth trying to form words, maybe to curse her or to beg for his life. It didn't matter to her anymore. Nothing Wyl Mossfeld did would ever matter to her again.

"How does it feel, Wyl?" she asked. "Tell me, how does it feel to be at my mercy?" She laughed then, free and light, as though she was still running across fields and collecting flowers in the moonlight.

"I forgot," she said. "You don't have the strength to talk anymore, do you?"

His breathing was labored, and he tried to raise his arm, but she pushed it back to the ground easily. It made her feel powerful, so incredibly powerful to finally be able to deny the person she had never before been strong enough to deny. The eyes that had haunted her nightmares had lost their cruelty and were now full of fear. The lips that had spewed filth at her could no longer form words.

"Well, before you lose the ability to listen, too, I'd like to inform you of something."

Brianna looked at him through narrowed eyes. and took a deep breath to calm herself. She _wanted_ this to hurt. She wanted his pain to be as bad as hers had been, she wanted him to suffer as she had suffered. Nothing else would ever give her the satisfaction of revenge.

"I am going to leave you to die, Wyl." Her voice was still calm, and soft. "I could help you, but I'm not going to. Because you don't deserve it." She brought up her dagger and cut him deeply, once, twice. Both cuts laid open arteries. She watched the blood bubbling out of the new wounds, secure in the knowledge that even swamp moss wouldn't be able to help him now.

"You are going to bleed out. You are going to die, and you are going to do it alone because you aren't worth it for me to waste my time on you any longer."

She climbed off him, sheathing her dagger.

"Enjoy the hells, Wyl," she whispered as she walked away.

* * *

Brianna had never felt so free before in her life. She felt as though in a trance as she walked to rejoin Bevil and Amie, as though nothing would be able to hurt her ever again. She had rid herself of the one person who had hurt her the most. Fortune had shown her favor, just this once – but maybe once was enough to turn the tide for her.

The air was no longer thick with spells as she approached the green. The magical glow had faded, leaving everything to be illuminated eerily by the nearby inferno. Brianna scanned the green before she noticed what she thought was Bevil, kneeling down. There was no sight of the enemy mage or Tarmas, or even Amie, but she remained on her guard. It was difficult to see anything for certain in the smoke-filled half-darkness. She could still hear the sound of fighting, but not in the immediate vicinity. Maybe Georg had managed to rally the militia in time, after all.

Bevil did not raise his head as she approached. He seemed to be hurt. His breath was coming in short gasps, and he was clutching something.

"Bevil?" she asked, reaching for the swamp moss.

"At least…" Bevil seemed to be choking out the words.

"What?" she asked, stepping closer. "What is it, Bevil?"

"At least… she did not… suffer."

He turned towards her then with the burden in his arms, and as he did, the light of the fires around them caught Amie's blank, lifeless face.

All feeling seemed to rush out of Brianna, and she fell to her knees besides the body. The thoughts of freedom were gone. Numbness had replaced elation. Bevil was holding Amie as though she could not be truly dead just as long as he was tightly in his grasp. But Brianna knew even before she reached out to feel for a pulse that her friend was gone.

Amie…

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Bevil gasped and sobbed, raising his eyes to hers.

"You… didn't see?"

She shook her head.

"She tried to help Tarmas… she didn't… she never learned protective spells. That other mage shot lightning straight at her, and…" He choked on his next words, sobbing some more. His hands were busy stroking Amie's hair, and he looked up at Brianna with desperation written plainly on his face.

"What do we do?" he asked her blankly. "Brianna, what do we do? What can we do?"

Brianna did not answer. She didn't see what it mattered, one way or the other. Nothing mattered, except that one of the only friends she'd ever had was laying dead in Bevil's arms, and she had not been there to prevent it, or even just to hold Amie as she drew her last breath. Sitting down next to him, she reached out to smooth out Amie's messy skirts. Soot, dust and and blood were clinging to them, and they were singed badly, and Brianna wondered suddenly whether Amie would have minded dying with her skirts in such disarray.

_What kind of an idiotic question is that? She wouldn't care, she's dead. She's dead…_

She suddenly realized that the tears had come easily after every time Wyl had touched her, but now they would not flow. She was staring at Amie's dead body, feeling… nothing. Feeling hollow. What kind of a friend was she?

"Bevil? Brianna?"

She willed for the voice to go away and leave her alone, but it wouldn't. Someone was touching her shoulder, pulling her and Bevil to their feet. She didn't have the strength in her to resist or argue.

"We'll be engaging them out on the wheat fields," Georg was telling them. "Are you two ready to fight?"

She wasn't, but it didn't matter. She still followed Georg and Bevil without a word of protest, clutching her dagger tightly once more, wondering whether she, herself, would survive the night.


	5. Fractures

**Fractures**

Brianna still had no idea how she'd managed to make it through the night.

Georg had led them through the semidarkness and out into the wheat fields near the Starling farm. Several dozen men and women had waited for them there, most of them armed with swords and axes, all of them looking grim. They had stood there in utter silence, waiting. She had taken the crossbow Georg had pressed into her hands – possibly still remembering her performance at the archery competition. What followed was a blur. She knew she had targeted wave after wave of approaching gray dwarves. _Duergar_, her mind had supplied helpfully halfway through the battle. When her bolts had run out, she had switched to her dagger. She knew she didn't stand a chance in honest one-on-one combat, so she had taken to weaving in and out of battle, flanking the duergar who were otherwise occupied and stabbing them resolutely in the back. Most people would have called it cowardly, but Brianna didn't give a damn as long as it kept her alive.

She was now slumped on the cold ground next to Bevil, who was bleeding from an injury to his thigh and another, shallow cut to his side. They were still by the wheat field they had fought on, the grim evidence of battle all around them. Bodies lay crumpled in the wheat. Some of them were moving, others still. Brother Merring was making his rounds, tending to the wounds of those still alive. With only minor injuries, Brianna doubted that she would get the benefit of magical healing any time soon. She was holding a clean strip of cloth pressed against a cut on her upper arm. She had already bandaged her other wounds, none of which were deep, but the damn wound on her arm would not stop bleeding.

Still, at least she had avoided the fate of those now laying lifeless in the wheat. It was not just the cold wind that made her shudder as she stared into the wide open, empty eyes of Ian Harman. The man had fallen not far from where she was sitting. She had seen him be thrown to his knees, flailing his arms as two duergar took their axes to the man's back.

_Better him than me._

She turned away. The sheer amount of death she'd seen tonight was getting to her. It left her feeling hollow and her stomach in knots, something she really didn't need on top of her exhaustion. Georg was still stomping around the field, barking orders. He was trying to set up a watch, so that the remaining townspeople would be ready in case of another attack. While doing that, he was also trying to figure out what in the hell had happened. Brianna listened with half an ear while checking her bandages yet again.

"What in the hells were these creatures?" Georg was snapping at Lazlo Buckman, who seemed just as clueless as Georg himself. He stammered something incoherent.

"They are called Bladelings," Brother Merring interrupted his administrations for a moment to turn towards the conversation. "Their kind is rarely seen in our realm. They… dwell in a place beyond."

A child could have figured out that the tall creatures weren't native to Faerun. Brianna was impressed, however, that Brother Merring did know what they were called. She had never heard of them before. It was an obvious conclusion that this had been no simple raid, and Georg was just now coming to it.

"They were looking for something," Lazlo supplied. "I heard one of them tall fellows say how it wasn't here and they were wastin' time."

A cool hand on her shoulder made her shift her attentions. The skin around her bleeding wound began to knit itself together by magic that smelled like fallen leaves.

"Daeghun!"

Still sitting, she turned towards her foster father. Daeghun had already moved on to Bevil and was casting another healing spell. He looked tired and worn. Brianna wondered what exactly he was so tired from, because she certainly had not seen him during any of the fighting.

"Where in the hells were you during all this?"she demanded to know.

A small shake of his head was the only clue she got that he had actually heard her. It was vexing. He unwrapped the bandage around Bevil's leg and cast yet another spell before turning towards Brianna.

"It is of no consequence. But there is something you need to do, a… mission, of sorts."

"What, now?" She stared. She was just about ready to fall into a warm bed, and definitely not in the mood for any of Daeghun's nonsense.

"Yes. It needs to be done tonight."

"Go do it, then." She demonstratively turned away from him, searching for something else she could pretend to be interested in. No way in hell was she running any errands for Daeghun now. Her reserves were empty. She was tired, hurt and hungry, mourning her best friend and marveling that she was still drawing breath. It was enough for one night.

She heard Daeghun sigh, and his hand pressed down onto her shoulder again.

"I fear I know what these creatures were after – why they attacked West Harbor."

"That's great. Go tell Georg, because he is dying to know."

He sighed again, sounding as though he was frustrated with her.

"These creatures may come back. They will come back if you do not do as I say."

"I don't give a damn."

"Think for a moment, Brianna." His grip tightened, and she gave in and turned back to look at him. "West Harbor is not ready for another attack. If these creatures are allowed to gather reinforcements and attack again, none of us will survive. That includes you, my daughter."

"Go do it yourself then, if you are so concerned for my well-being. My answer is no. I am not suicidal!"

"I will not tolerate your refusal on this, Brianna."

She stared at him, her eyes burning with smoke and some emotion she tried her best to ignore. This short conversation had been longer than any exchange she had had with her foster father in the past five years or so.

_And now, when it comes to sending me headfirst into danger, he tries to prove he has parenting skills?_

"I hate you," she whispered, her voice full of suppressed fury.

He pretended not to have heard her. Bevil, whose wounds had all been healed by Daeghun's hand, was still standing nearby, looking quite uncomfortable to be a witness to their exchange. Just as he seemed about to turn away and give them some privacy, Daeghun's free hand caught him by the elbow.

"Bevil, I need you to accompany Brianna into the swamp," he said with finality. Bevil blanched.

"The swamp? But…"

He fell silent and bit his lip. Brianna inwardly rolled her eyes. Bevil was too much of a soldier to argue about what he perceived to be a direct order.

_Speaking of, didn't I just make it clear that I am __**not going**__? _

Daeghun apparently had not gotten the message. He steered them away from the crowd, walking purposefully towards the river. Bevil looked as uncomfortable as Brianna might have felt if not for the raging, mad fury inside her that drowned out all other emotions.

_How dare he treat me this way? How _dare _he? Years and years of utter silence, of making me feel like I'm near invisible to his eyes, and now that I can suddenly be of use he drags me out like some _tool_ to be used at his convenience! He knows damn well how this village has treated me over the years, and yet he's expecting me to cheerfully march to my death to protect what's left of it! _

She was clenching her teeth and had her hands balled into fists by the time they reached the path out of West Harbor and into the Mere. Daeghun seemed to sense her thoughts and turned towards her again. His face was grim.

"I know we do not always see eye to eye, Brianna, and I know that I am asking you for much tonight. But it is imperative that you trust me. Hate me if you must, as long as you do what needs to be done."

She turned away, lips pressed together. Bevil certainly looked like he had resigned himself to dying in the swamp, but she hadn't.

"If you will not do it to help West Harbor, then do it for your own sake.

She frowned and looked back at him.

"What do you mean?"

Daeghun's expression was unreadable in the dark, but his voice had a resigned tone to it.

"You have been wanting to leave West Harbor have you not? After tonight, I will no longer force you to stay."

Leave West Harbor? Leave the swamp? Gods, it sounded too good to be true.

"You'd better not be lying about that," she hissed. She had never seen her foster father lie, but his sudden willingness to let her go appeared suspicious to her, at best.

"Think what you will, my daughter. But recover the artifact."

Daeghun turned and walked back towards the remaining villagers without another glance at them, as though he was certain Brianna would obey his orders. His obvious manipulation made her near livid.

"So… off into the Mere?" Bevil asked tentatively.

She gave him a glare of death before stomping off into the darkness.

* * *

Lizardlings had inhabited the depths of the swamp since Brianna could remember. They were simple creatures, bottom-feeders who were rarely ever trouble enough for humans to concern themselves with. They were smart enough to stay away from human settlements, and she had been lucky enough not to run into any of them during her short-lived flight from West Harbor over a year ago, before Daeghun had tracked her down and forced her to return. She knew, however, that they were fiercely territorial, which made this insane mission Daeghun had sent her on even more of a bad idea. The ruins he had directed them towards housed a lizardling tribe that, predictably, did not appreciate their intrusion.

Bevil was busy using every fighting skill he had ever learned in his time with the West Harbor Militia to stay alive amidst a throng of lizardlings that were waving their swords at him haphazardly. He had retreated down the corridor of the half-ruined structure they had forced their way into, presumably to prevent the lizardlings from flanking him. The real reason, however, became only too obvious to the pursuing lizardling shaman when he was caught in the back by a dagger and sank to his knees with a groan.

The second shaman whirled around just in time for Brianna to bring up her blade and slash him across the chest. She dodged his staff and kicked one leg out from under him, and when he stumbled and fell, her blade followed.

Panting, she turned towards her companion. Bevil had dispatched all but one of the fighters surrounding him, and the last lizardling was getting ready to run. Brianna stood ready, just in case he decided to run in her direction. They didn't need him alerting any lizardlings who might still be ahead. Past Bevil lay the entrance to the ruins, and past it the open swamp, and it was this direction the lizardling finally took .

They sank against one of the moss-covered walls to rest. Bevil was gasping for breath. Brianna took a cloth from a pocket of her tunic and wiped the blood and sweat of his face. As the one who was trained in fighting, Bevil was forced to draw out the lizardlings over and over again, so Brianna could get to the shamans that usually brought up the rear of the small patrols they kept encountering. Magic could render even the best of fighters helpless within moments, and Brianna had realized during their trek through the swamp that it would be essential to eliminate the spellcasters first for this reason. Bevil, with his misguided notions of heroism, had protested her tactics until it had become clear that her idea was the one thing keeping both of them good and alive.

"There better not be too many more ahead," Bevil groaned. "I don't know how much I can take."

Brianna shrugged and studied the ground between her feet. It was strange. Only this morning, she had considered Bevil a friend, but now she was ready to give him a few good smacks upside the head every time he talked.

"Well, at least we're doing our part, helping out West Harbor," he observed.

Brianna snorted at that. Bevil leaned back against the wall and turned his head to look at her.

"You don't care, do you?" There was a note of bitterness in his voice. "You don't even care about doing your part to making West Harbor safe."

"I'm surprised how much you care," she admitted. She was beyond worrying whether what she said might offend him. The careful balance of the group that Amie had always maintained was gone now. Bevil and her weren't compatible as friends, just the two of them.

"Of course I care," he said heatedly. "I know it's different with you, you don't need to tell me. You… you don't have much of a conscience. Sometimes I wish I didn't either. But I won't leave the people of West Harbor to their fate just like that."

"That's because you _care_ about them. I don't." She answered his stare with one of her own. "And you care about them because they treated you well. For my part, I can't say anything of the sort."

It was blank, untarnished truth, and she could not believe Bevil actually had the gall to argue it.

"That's not true Brianna. What did my mother ever do to you, for example?"

"Your mother? Just the way she looked at me, when…"

"You are going to leave somebody to die because of the way they looked a you? Gods Brianna, do you even listen to yourself?"

Brianna pressed her lips together. Bevil's voice had gotten loud, too loud, and Brianna realized that they would draw the attention of more lizardmen if they continued this conversation.

"You don't understand," she said with finality.

"Fine." Bevil sighed and wiped his face with his sleeve. "But it isn't wrong to want to help, you know."

"_Amie_ wanted to help!" it burst out of Brianna. "And look what happened! I lost one of the very few people who were kind to me, because…"

"Amie's dead, and all you care about is how it inconveniences you!" Bevil yelled. She stared at him, shocked into silence. He averted his eyes.

"Gods, Brianna, just… let's just move on."

He shook his head and pulled himself up the wall, standing clumsily. His legs were shaking. Brianna did not like to see it. If Bevil fell, there was no way she would be able to make it back to West Harbor on her own. What in the hells had Daeghun been thinking to send them here?

They made their way further down the long hallway in silence. There were no more lizardlings offering resistance, which Brianna was quite thankful for. There was a sound in the air, however, some kind of eerie chant that got louder the closer they got to the door at the end of the hallway. She was fairly certain that it couldn't mean anything good.

Bevil shot her a questioning look as they stepped towards the door. Brianna gave him a dark smile. Whatever was happening in the room behind this door, they would need to face eventually if they wanted to get what they came here for. She stretched out her hand and carefully pushed open the door.

The backs of a score of kneeling lizardmen were illuminated by the ghostly flickering light of the torches distributed throughout the room. It took Brianna a second to realize that they were worshiping, bowing their heads towards some sort of bloody altar, before which yet another shaman was standing, arms raised. This one was dressed in a mucky robe and carried a staff that was much too expensive looking to be in the possession of lizardlings. He was emitting a series of hissing and growling noises, praying in the tongue of lizardlings. Brianna didn't speak the primitive tongue, but she understood it well enough, and so she cocked her head and listened for any information that might be able to give them an advantage.

_Something about spirits… stone spirits, he is praying to the spirits of a god of stone. He is asking for their blessing before… hatching? No, that can't be it. Their ancestor's hatching grounds… they are going to fight for them. They are preparing to go to war with another tribe, and they are asking for blessings._

"There are such an awful lot of them," Bevil broke her concentration, whispering much too loud. She froze.

_Bevil, you damned fool idiot!_

There was movement now, the sound of weapons being drawn as several of the lizardlings turned towards them. Brianna's mind worked in overdrive. There had to be a way to avoid the open conflict that would spell their certain death. There had to be something she could do…

Bevil next to her had readied his sword. Pointless, really. He wouldn't last ten seconds against this many lizardlings and at least one shaman. She considered, lightning-fast, everything she had ever heard, read, experienced or otherwise found out about lizardlings, and she remembered that they were ferocious in combat, but could also be rather gullible. A single, desperate idea came to her, and she clung to it, because while it was desperate, it was also their only chance.

She stepped forward boldly, concentrating with every fiber of her being on showing strength and hiding her fear. The lizardlings froze as she emitted a threatening hiss, copying those she had heard from the lizardlings who had attacked her earlier. They were used to humans slaughtering them, not acting like she did now. She could feel Bevil's astonished stare at her back.

_Damn it Bevil, keep it together for two minutes so I can get the both of us out of here alive._

"Who dares intrude on most holy ritual!" The shaman was snarling, now speaking the common tongue. Brianna stepped forward. She tilted her head so the fire from the torches would make her look as mysterious as possible, her eyes focused on the shaman. If she had read the room right, he was the one in command. He was the key to her own survival. If she could convince him, she was safe, but that, obviously, was the tricky part. Her heart was beating so loudly she was afraid the entire room might be able to hear it.

"Is this how you receive the answer to your prayers?"

She spoke the words with the same sort of hiss that marked the shaman's' accent. She was not certain enough in her knowledge of the lizard tongue to speak it without messing up what she was trying to say, but it might be enough that the shaman apparently spoke a bit of common.

The shaman stared.

"Stone God send you?" He was back to speaking the lizardling tongue now. His voice was full of badly suppressed excitement, and the other lizardlings, who had understood the shaman's words, turned towards her with hissing sounds of skepticism.

She concentrated upon the words he had spoken, repeating them almost verbatim.

"Stone God send me," she said in their tongue, still standing tall and unwavering in their midst.

There was a pause, while she waited nervously and the lizardlings merely stared. Then the shaman nodded.

"Stone God send you!" His voice was filed with awe.

"The Stone God sent me as a good omen." She had switched back to common. "The Stone God wishes to let you know that he supports your fight, and that by his will, you shall be victorious."

She seemed to have chosen her words well enough. The shaman repeated them in the lizard tongue to hisses and cheers from the lizardmen. They were clanging their weapons together, ready for slaughter.

"Go," she told the shaman haughtily. "Go now, and once you return victoriously, you may thank the Stone God for his blessing."

Bevil stepped aside just in time to avoid the barrage of lizardmen eager for blood. They were shouting and yelling as they raced along the corridor, followed by the shaman, who had his arms raised in a gesture of blessing.

_I can't believe that worked. I absolutely and utterly cannot believe that actually worked._

She stood there, momentarily stunned by the fact that she had managed to avoid certain death by angry lizardlings after all. Bevil seemed similarly impressed.

"I've never seen anything like that," he confessed. "I didn't know that was even possible. You spoke with them!"

"Their language isn't that different from Common," Brianna shrugged. "The grammar's roughly the same, there's just a lot more hissing, and their vocabulary is quite a bit simpler."

She stepped towards the abandoned altar and narrowed her eyes. She had not noticed it before, but now that the shaman wasn't standing in front of it any more, she could clearly see the basin attached to the altar, used to collect blood from sacrificial slaughterings.

"Cheerful," she muttered. "Let's look for Daeghun's artifact and get out of here. I don't think I want to be here when they figure out I took their god's name in vain and all that."

They searched the room quickly and efficiently. Brianna found and pocketed some gold coins, and Bevil rummaged his way through a pile of filthy rags, but as soon as Brianna approached the chest sitting in the far corner of the room, she knew it was the place. Her hands were positively tingling with the feeling of magic.

"It's here," she informed him. The lock on the chest was old and rusted, and Bevil had no trouble bashing it with the hilt of his sword. Brianna reached for whatever was inside the chest and pulled out a rather sharp piece of metal.

"We came all the way here… for this?" Bevil was staring. "For some piece of metal?"

_Some piece of metal? _

Brianna shook her head at Bevil's cluelessness. She was not quite sure what it was she was holding, but she knew it was more than just a piece of metal. The tingling she often felt as magic manifested itself was multiplied in the shard, to the point where it felt like a slight electric current passed through the shard and herself as her fingertips brushed over it. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, however. Whatever this was, it was _extremely_ magical.

Though she couldn't help but wonder how Daeghun had acquired it, and why he had hidden it away in the ruins.

And why the hells creatures from another plane of existence had destroyed most of West Harbor looking for it.


	6. Circumstance

**Circumstance**

It was raining again.

Brianna cursed under her breath when she felt the first drops on her skin, and checked that her pack was as still tightly tied before pulling her hood over her head. She could not afford to find shelter until the rain had passed. It was essential to keep moving.

Her foster father's final words rang in her head as she trudged on, her boots sloshing through the mud.

"_A single target and being on the move will make you more difficult for them to find. It is your best chance."_

_Damn you, Daeghun. Damn you to the hells. _

She had thought her foster father incapable of deception, but she had been wrong. She had realized it as soon as she had returned from the lizard-infested ruins, with Bevil in tow, and presented him with the shard. He had refused it with a small shake of his head. _Refused_, after all she had gone through to get the damn thing.

"It has recognized you as its bearer," he had said, pointing towards the shard. Brianna's hand had tingled sharply with the shard's magic as she had held it out to her foster father. She had known then that he had been right, much as though she would have liked for him not to be. The shard would glow with a faint light as long as Brianna held it, and it did this only for her, not for Bevil, though he had tried.

"What do you mean?" she had asked sharply. "I went to get this for you so I could leave! What am I supposed to do with this damn thing? And why would it chose me? Because I touched it first, and not Bevil?"

Daeghun had not answered her.

The light rain was turning into a downpour. She cursed again. It was tempting to veer off the path just slightly and let the trees shelter her from the worst of the rain while she walked, but she knew how treacherous the swamp could be. She might be stuck up to the hip in some muddy hole before she realized it. Better to make her way to the inn Daeghun had told her about and dry her things there, while she rested.

Her departure from West Harbor had been hurried. She had been torn between blind fury because her foster father had deceived her so, and wild panic because she know he was speaking the truth. She was, somehow, connected to the shard. Even if she ditched the cursed thing now, the creatures who had near destroyed West Harbor would come after her.

He had offered her a way out, the one she had no doubts he'd been planning from the start.

_"The shard is one of a pair. Both were found after the battle that nearly destroyed West Harbor many years ago – the same battle during which your mother died. I took one of the shards and hid it in the ruins. The other is with my half-brother Duncan, in Neverwinter. It is there that you must go. The walls of the city will offer you more protection than West Harbor ever could, and Duncan may be able to give you more information about the shards than I can."_

The bastard had planned it all. She was certain that Daeghun would never have offered her the deal of letting her leave West Harbor if he had not known from the start that it would be unavoidable. He had not hesitated to sacrifice her to save that damned village from another attack. She'd been angry, more damn angry than she could ever remember being. Hells, she was still angry and likely would be for the rest of her life, but at some point, anger had taken a back seat to common sense. She had had to grudgingly admit to herself that no matter how much of a backstabbing bastard Daeghun was, listening to him more than likely played a key part in ensuring her continued existence.

And now she was on the run, fury and bitterness her only companions. At least the remaining inhabitants of West Harbor had had the decency to wish her the best for the journey, even though Daeghun refused to explain her leaving or even mention the shard in front of anyone but Brianna. She supposed this was another precaution on his part. The less people knew of her destination and mission, the less likely the information was to fall into the wrong hands.

She had the dagger that had served her well enough during the fight in the ruins strapped to the leather armor Daeghun had procured for her to wear. A short sword, the only kind she felt moderately comfortable wielding, was in a sheath strapped to her hip. Two healing potions, reluctantly given by Amie's mentor Tarmas, were securely tucked into her belt so she could reach them in at a moment notice if necessary. The pack that Daeghun had expertly tied for her contained the rest of her gear, bandages and a torch, besides rations and a change of clothes.

I hope it really is as waterproof as Daeghun said it was. If I have to dry every damn thing I own once I'm at the inn I'll be in a seriously bad mood.

The path was getting a little broader now. Through the trees, she could make out a gloomily lit building that looked very out of place in the middle of the swamp. It had to be the inn.

She was looking forward to a warm bed more than anything right now. Daeghun had pushed her to get her things together and leave West Harbor as soon as possible, meaning that she had not gotten any sleep since before the harvest fair. She had walked through the swamp for most of the day, more exhausted than she'd ever been but too scared of being pursued to make camp in the swamp. That, and she was rather lousy at surviving out in the wild.

Twigs snapped to her right. She spun around, groping for her dagger. Someone was stepping out from behind a bush and approaching her. Not a bladeling though, she realized after a moment - it was a human. But that didn't mean she was safe.

The man moved further towards her, and she realized that he was probably little older than herself. He had blond, messy hair falling into his face and looked like he hadn't bathed in at least a tenday.

"Well , what do we have here?" he asked. There was subtly dangerous edge to the question, and Brianna grasped the hilt of her dagger tightly. "All alone, little girl?"

"Get away from me," she growled, raising her dagger. It was one against one, and she thought she might be able to take him if she didn't mess it up. He seemed unimpressed, however.

"Now now, no reason to be so rude, now is it? I'm just tryin' te help." He was still coming closer, and before she realized she was doing it, she had taken a step back.

_Great. Way to let him see how nervous you are, you stupid cow._

"I don't need your help," she replied. "Back off."

"Come on now, don't be like that!" He took another step towards her, his lips curling into a smile.

"Back the fuck off," she snarled.

_The inn is right there. If I make a run for it, if I can reach it in time, I'll be fine. He won't risk me making a scene in there._

A small noise behind her, the squelching sound of a boot stepping into mud, made her realize that her odds had just gotten considerably worse.

_Fuck._

She turned her head briefly. There were two more men coming up behind her, and she had not noticed them until they had effectively cut off her escape route.

"What d'ya have there, Gowie?" one of them asked.

Gowie grinned.

"Little girl walked past just as I was doing my business, here. Thought I would offer my help, but she 'ent been too keen on it." He was looking at her in a way that reminded her of Wyl Mossfeld just before he had asked her to take that fateful walk along the river one evening. She barely suppressed a shudder.

"Leave me be," she said, lowering her voice to a growl that she hoped sounded threatening.

"Girlie, we ain't about to hurt you," one of the men behind her said. "Just have a bit of fun, is all. Let us have the fun, and we'll leave ye unharmed for sure. Might even throw in a coin or two, eh?"

She felt the bile rising in her throat and fought to keep herself calm. She couldn't afford to let his words nauseate her.

_No way in hell is anyone ever going to touch me that way again. Not you, not anyone. Ever._

"There's no fun to be had with me," she hissed. Her fingers twitched nervously around the hilt of the dagger. The rain was making the damn thing slippery in her hand.

_Damn it, I need to start being smart about this. With three of them and only one of me, there's no way I can take them in a straight fight. Maybe if I start acting compliant they'll let their guard down enough for me to be able to kill one before they even realize…_

She took a deep breath and tried very hard not to let sheer panic take a hold of her mind. The disgust was almost too much, and she fought silently with herself, fought with that tearful pale girl she always saw in the mirror, taking her by the shoulders and shaking until the bitch realized the need to get over herself in order to stay alive.

"Think, girlie," one of them men behind her growled. "Ye can't take the three of us with only yer dagger. Would be a shame to have to cut yer throat, it would."

_Gods, I'll have to… there isn't another way. I need to make them think I'm not a threat. I don't want to die._

_I don't want to die._

She lowered her weapon, making an effort to look vulnerable. The girl inside her was screaming, terrified of what was about to happen, begging her to go out fighting.

"You're right," she whispered, adding a tremble to her lips. "Just… please don't be too rough."

"Ah, don't worry girlie. We'll be very nice."

She felt an arm go around her waist, and a hand grasped her wrist, pressing down. She took the hint and dropped her weapon, taking care to remember where the blade fell. The man behind her was running one hand down her armor now. She caught a whiff of his scent and nearly gagged again.

"Damn leathers," she heard him mumble. "Let's cut'em off her."

_Hells, I can't let them do that. I need that fucking armor to stay alive._

"No, wait, please…" she gasped, and in one fluid motion turned and fell to her knees. Her mouth was dry with fear and she nearly heaved with repulsion as her hands went to the tie on the man's breeches. All three of them hollered their approval, and she made a show of stroking along the hardening length inside the man's breeches with one hand while her other surreptitiously groped in the mud for her dagger.

_No… no, no, no way… just distract them for a bit longer…think of something…_

An angry shout broke her concentration. She turned her head, as did the men around her. Someone was coming towards them from the inn, and Gowie let out a groan.

"By the nine 'ells, it's that damned dwarf from the inn!"

Renewed hope rushed through Brianna, and she prayed that this would be enough of a distraction for her to get away, if she played her cards right. A wave of silent triumph surged through her as her hand finally wrapped around the hilt of her blade, and she sat there, muscles tensed, waiting for her chance.

It really was a dwarf that was approaching them now, moving with astounding speed for one only half as tall as Brianna. He was fully armored, with a look on his face that spelled irritation, and… eagerness?

"So I've finally found ye flea-bitten lot," the dwarf huffed, his deep voice rumbling. "Now that ye've had some time to think about those insults ye were throwin' my way earlier, maybe ye'd like to take 'em back, eh?"

No words had ever rung sweeter in Brianna's ears. Even though she had no idea who in the hells this dwarf was or where he had come from, he obviously wasn't a friend to the men who had her surrounded. And, judging by his stance, he was more than ready for a fight.

"And what are ye doin' with that lass, ye lout?" The dwarf had just now noticed her situation and his tone had changed to one of outrage. "That kind o' dastardly lot, are ye? ARE YE?"

The sounds of weapons being drawn jolted Brianna into action. Her muscles tensed as she tried to figure out the best route that would get her out of range of all three of them.

"This doesn't concern you, dwarf," the man she was kneeling before spat. "Get lost, and nobody'll get hurt." His narrow eyes were focused on the dwarf. He had apparently forgotten all about Brianna.

_Big mistake,_ she thought grimly, and without further discussion led her dagger up and into the bastard's groin.

The man's shocked cry alarmed his comrades, but they reacted far too late. By the time they realized what she had done, Brianna had already tumbled past and out of reach, and the dwarf had raised his battleaxe and was charging right at them. The man Brianna had targeted was lying in the mud, blood streaming from between his thighs and mingling with the rain. He was moaning in pain. She pressed her lips together grimly and kept moving, staying out of reach of the other two. The dwarf promptly seemed to decide that higher ground might bring a tactical advantage, and proceeded to use the fallen man's head as a step stool. She watched the ruffian's face being pressed in the muddy puddle, saw his body jerk and his arms flail and realized he was actually drowning.

The dwarf had skills, and mad power as well. With a grunt he thrust his battleaxe forward, sank it with a sickening crack into the blond man's ribcage. Gowie went down without a sound. His eyes were wide with shock. The dwarf worked furiously at pulling the axe out of the battered body while Gowie was dying, grunting with displeasure when it would not come free. The one man left standing saw his opportunity and advanced on the dwarf.

Brianna's dagger caught him in the back. She'd slipped it smoothly under his ribs and twisted it violently before ripping it away again, a move she had practiced far too many times on duergar and lizardmen in the very recent past. The man fell to his knees. The dwarf, still balancing on the body of Brianna's first victim, finally worked his axe free, and in one fluid motion turned and cleaved the man's head open.

Brianna squeezed her eyes shut just in time. She flinched as she was showered with blood and wet bits of gray. Her stomach gave a rather appropriate lurch.

"Sorry, lass," the dwarf said gruffly, huffing for breath. "Ye'll be alright?" His voice had taken on a kindly tone, and she realized he was remembering the situation in which he'd found her. It felt surprisingly nice to have someone show that kind of concern towards her.

She wiped her face as well as she could with a clean part of her sleeve.

"Yes," she said. "Thanks for helping."

"Name's Khelgar Ironfist, by the way," he introduced himself and puffed out his chest. She wondered if he expected her to recognize the name, but he did not appear insulted when she didn't.

"Brianna Storm," she said, and, for lack of anything better to do, awkwardly shook his hand. It occurred to her that this was a rather odd scene. The two of them were standing in between three dead bodies, both splattered with blood and mud and dripping wet with rain. She was fairly certain there were small bits of brain in her hair, too.

_So, what now?_

"What say ye we'll get back to the inn and have a talk, lass," the dwarf proposed. "First ale's on me."


	7. Charity

**Charity**

The morning found Brianna in an astonishingly bright mood, given the circumstances. A hot bath, a tankard of ale and a solid night of sleep had done wonders to raise her spirits. Her body was sore from the amount of punishment it had taken over the last two days, and her muscles protested as she buckled her armor, but, she reflected, it could have been a whole lot worse. Then she wondered where she might possibly have acquired this sudden streak of optimism.

Maybe it had to do with Khelgar. The dwarf had helped her out of a damn tight spot. They had talked quite a bit the night before, while Brianna had waited for her bath to be ready. Khelgar, it seemed, had made fighting into something of a personal religion and traveled all over the sword coast for the sole purpose of learning all there was to learn about fighting. It had not taken long for him to start sharing stories of bar brawls, daring maneuvers and roaring victories. Brianna liked to sit and listen. She soon discovered that Khelgar had quite a talent for bringing a story to life, and she had giggled into her tankard as he described himself being hurled across the entirety of some tavern by his ankle – an incident no doubt exaggerated, but nevertheless entertaining.

She stared into the small, dirty mirror as she tied her unruly hair back with a thin leather strap. The bruise that Wyl had given her was looking slightly better, but there were dark circles under both her eyes. Her sleep had been dreamless and deep and had most definitely done her good, but apparently it had not been enough to erase the evidence of battling duergar and bladelings and lizardmen all of the night before last. She grimaced at her mirror image and bent to pick up her pack. It was high time for her to leave before those who were hunting the damned shard found her trail.

Khelgar was waiting for her downstairs in the inn's common room. She thought at first that the dwarf had been waiting for her to say goodbye, but he was fully packed, looking far broader than tall with all of his gear strapped to his sides.

"Well," he greeted her with a nod, "all ready to go, lass?"

She stared.

"You're… coming with?"

"Why of course I am," he announced as though she was daft not to expect it. "I can't just leave a wee lass such as yourself to her own devices now! Besides," he added conspiratorially, "ye do seem to attract trouble, and I imagine we'll get into all sorts of interestin' fights!"

Brianna felt a smile creep up on her face before she could help it. She'd been more than nervous about the three days' march to Fort Locke, which was the next relatively safe stop on her journey. There would be plenty of opportunities for the hunters to ambush her on the way, and traveling with a dwarf that had a pathological obsession with fighting was certain to raise her odds of making it to the fort in one piece. Besides, she figured there was far worse company.

"In that case, let us be off," she said simply, and he followed her out the door.

They took all of a hundred steps before they ran into the first group of bladelings.

* * *

On the way to Fort Locke, Brianna learned a few things about dwarves that books and hearsay had not been able to teach her.

For one, they snored. Loudly. When they made camp the first night, Brianna was only able to get to sleep after rummaging in her pack for her healing supplies, and then ripping off pieces of bandage just small enough to stuff into her ears. She awoke the next morning feeling mildly irritated and rather tired.

They also did tend to smell. While Khelgar did take care to comb his beard when he woke up in the morning, Brianna noticed soon that he didn't seem to do much else in terms of regular personal hygiene. This led to him smelling quite strongly of _Khelgar_, and to Brianna occasionally having to hold her breath when she was very close to him. It was bearable, thank the gods, but not the most pleasant aspect about her new traveling companion.

She was still very thankful to have him around though. Khelgar had led the life of a traveler and adventurer for some time, so he was accustomed to building fires and digging latrines. Besides, the look on the bladelings' faces when he had charged straight into their little group with a great battle cry had been worth all inconveniences. They'd both come out of the fight bloody and battered, and Brianna had had to use Tarmas' healing potions and some of her bandages to patch up both Khelgar and herself, but they left four bladelings dead in their path. Four less who would hunt her for that blasted shard.

They approached Fort Locke in the early evening of the third day, just as the sun touched the horizon. Situated on the flat top of a hill and surrounded by a wooden palisade, the fort looked safe enough for Brianna to be suitably relieved at not having to spend another night in the middle of the forest with her stomach in knots because she expected a group of bladelings or duergar to come crashing through the undergrowth at any moment.

As they approached, Brianna realized that she'd just now completed the first stretch of this damnable journey. On one hand she was relieved to have made her way this far without dying at the hands of certain extraplanar creatures, but on the other hand she did not relish the thought of having so much yet ahead. With the rumors they had heard about there being bandits on the road to Highcliff, she'd bet there was quite a lot more trouble ahead.

_You will take the road to Highcliff, and from there find a ship to Neverwinter. With any luck, the enemy will be misled and realize too late that you traveled by ship._

She pressed her lips together as Daeghun's words echoed in her head. She doubted that she would ever be able to forgive Daeghun for using her like this, for casting her out and sending hordes of bloodthirsty creatures after her to protect a few villagers. It was not like she had ever been particularly fond of her foster father, but the fact that her life meant so little to him had shocked her. She had vowed not to let it happen again.

_He cannot disappoint me if I don't trust him in the first place._

Khelgar cleared his throat, causing her to snap out of her thoughts.

"Lass…" he said, and she saw it too.

Three men, soldiers judging by their uniforms, were crowding around something in the distance. It looked like a confrontation, though there was something strange about it. Brianna had no plans to get involved.

"Let's keep our distance," she said. "They look like soldiers from the fort, and I'd like to keep them on our side."

"Whatever ye say, lass," Khelgar shrugged, and they kept walking. They still had to pass relatively close as not to have to make their way through untamed undergrowth, and even though Brianna knew that it was best to keep her head down and just get past them, her eyes wandered to the huddled figure amidst the guards.

It was a girl that was sitting there, knees drawn up to her chest and arms covering a shock of short, reddish-brown hair. She convulsed with every kick that the soldiers were delivering to her ribs. A dagger lay fallen some feet away, and Brianna realized that the girl had likely put up quite the fight before the guards had overwhelmed her. One of the men had a gash across his face, another a bloody stain on his arm. Brianna wondered what the girl had done to incur their wrath.

The soldiers stopped kicking just as Brianna and Khelgar were passing the group. None of them spared them a single glance, which Brianna was quite thankful for. One of them grabbed the girl by the scruff of her neck and pulled her roughly to her feet.

"Now then demon," the man said threateningly. "Any new information, now that ye've had some time to _think_?"

_Demon?_ Brianna thought blankly. She promptly felt foolish once she looked a little closer and realized that the girl had small horns, one sprouting on each side of her forehead. There was also the flesh-colored tip of a tail that was peeking out from behind the girl's leg. She had to be a tiefling, a creature with mostly human ancestry, but just enough demon blood in it to show.

"I told you…" The girl seemed to have been crying, she had scratches on her face and she was bleeding from the corner of her mouth, but her voice was defiant as she answered. "I'm _not _with those bandits. Are you deaf and stupid?"

Brianna grinned despite herself.

_Whoever she is, I kinda like her._

The soldiers, however did not seem to find it quite so funny. Brianna realized that they were about to start giving the girl more bruises, and she had no desire to witness it. Just as she turned away, the man who was holding the girl adjusted his grip on her, his hand brushing the tiefling's breast as he grabbed her with a smirk.

It might have been an accident or he might have done it on purpose, Brianna couldn't tell, but something inside her shattered as she witnessed the gesture. Before she knew it, her dagger was out of her sheath and she had dropped her pack and was advancing on the soldiers.

"Lass," Khelgar said nervously, coming after her. "Lass, whatar'ye…"

_Yes, what in the nine hells am I doing? Brianna, you complete idiot, turn around and put the fucking knife away. _

_They're the sort that cornered me outside of the Weeping Willow. They might have done that to me if I'd walked along at the wrong time. _

_I'll kill them for it. _

She felt herself shaking with fury and without preamble, without any warning or demand she lunged for the nearest of the soldiers. There was a startled cry, and then suddenly everyone had their weapons out and steel clashed with steel.

* * *

"Lass," Khelgar grumbled after it was all over. "What in the nine stinkin' hells were ye thinkin', chargin' at 'em like that?"

Brianna only shrugged. The last thing she wanted to do right now was explain herself. Especially since she wasn't entirely certain what in the hells she had been thinking herself.

"It turned out alright," she finally pointed out. She was actually a bit surprised that the dwarf was not as enthusiastic about this "next round of practice", as he generally called their fights.

"That's true lass, but fightin' fer a stinkin' tiefling?" Khelgar was skeptical.

The girl, who had up until now been silently dabbing at her wounds with the cloth Brianna had given her, raised her head at those words.

"Well I can't really deny the tiefling part seeing how the tail's rather obvious, but I think _you're_ the one taking care of the stinking, dwarf." She wrinkled her nose and made a face at him.

Brianna was grinning again. She couldn't help it. Khelgar looked outraged and was ringing for an answer.

"I'm Neeshka, by the way." The girl had turned towards Brianna. "Guess I owe you one, huh?"

Brianna shrugged. She wasn't used to receiving gratitude. Besides, she hadn't helped the tiefling out of some misguided compassion, but because there was apparently something wrong in her head. She still didn't understand what had possessed her to charge at three armed and armored soldiers with nothing but a dagger in her hand. She hadn't survived the repeated bladeling assaults just to die of stupidity.

_Oh, fuck, the fort commander's going to have our heads if he finds out we just killed three of his men._

She groaned and hid her face in her hands.

_What in the nine hells was I thinking? I can't afford to create those kinds of problems for myself. Damn it all to the abyss!_

"Er, lass? We might want to find another place to rest after all." Khelgar was apparently thinking along the same lines she was.

"Yeah, I know," she mumbled, resigned. Turning to pick up her pack, she glanced at the dwarf's unhappy face and realized Khelgar was still looking at the tiefling.

"Could I… you think…" Neeshka's voice was reluctant. "Do you think I could join you? Just for a little while, I won't get in the way," she added hastily. Her tail was twitching behind her back, betraying the girl's nervousness. Khelgar's expression had turned thunderous. The dwarf turned towards Brianna, who was frowning.

"Lass, ye can't seriously be thinkin' about this? Ye can't trust her kind!"

Neeshka drew herself up to her full height. She was about as tall as Brianna, maybe a finger's width or so taller, but it was enough for the purpose of towering over Khelgar.

"Oh yeah?" she said. "Well, she shouldn't trust your kind either, considering that dwarves are nothing but fat, smelly drunks who'll chop someone in half just to prove how tough they are."

Brianna began to get a little worried that Khelgar might get upset enough to pick up his axe right there and attempt to chop the tiefling girl in half. But Neeshka was not to be dissuaded.

"Look, it's much safer with three people on the road instead of two." She had turned back to Brianna. "I can take watch, and I can cook... well, a little, anyway." She reached up and scratched one of her horns.

"I'm not some charity worker," Brianna muttered, nonetheless considering the proposal. On one hand, Neeshka was right – she could be useful on the road, and there was nothing wrong with having another person that could shield her from any bladelings, although she doubted Neeshka would be half as useful for that as Khelgar. Besides, that way the girl could work towards making up for the additional trouble she had caused Brianna. On the other hand, the larger the group, the less inconspicuous they would be – especially traveling with a tiefling. She sighed.

"I could help you against the bandits that've been plaguing the road, too," Neeshka sent another argument her way. She seemed hell-bent on joining up with them, something Brianna couldn't really blame her for. She'd been glad not to travel alone any more as well when she'd found Khelgar.

Brianna turned toward the dwarf.

"Lass…" he began, noticing the look in her eyes.

Brianna considered her next words carefully. She did not want to take up Neeshka's case and alienate the dwarf over it. He was far more valuable in helping her out, after all.

"Isn't it better to have her where we can keep a look on her?" she finally suggested. "She'd probably decide to follow us anyway, and then we'd have her at our backs."

Khelgar scratched his beard.

"Well, ye may be right lass, but…" He seemed to have run out of words for the time being, so he simply shrugged. Neeshka seemed to interpret this as the dwarf's defeat and nearly squealed.

"I won't be any trouble, I promise," she said quickly. "Oh, this is so cool! You're actually nice! Well, a little, anyway. We could be friends!"

_Yeah, whatever you say._

Brianna nodded her head towards the road. Since they now had to circumvent the fort and find a place to camp out in the wilderness, they had better make haste before the sun was gone completely.

"Hey, wait," Neeshka called and rushed to catch up with her, Khelgar following behind with a frown on his face. "What's your name anyway?"


	8. Stories

_Author's Note: I'd like to take this moment to give a heartfelt thank you to everyone who's reviewed Rain and Lightning so far - all the comments are so encouraging and are really helping to keep me at it. Thank you all very much. I had a bit of trouble with the last couple of chapters and I'm still not entirely happy with them, but I've found that it works better for me to just keep writing instead of mulling over imperfections indefinitely. Often I don't get the proper inspiration or idea to fix what's wrong until much later. So you might see small edits to earlier chapters happening at some point in the future - just a small heads up on the side. _

_

* * *

  
_

**Stories**

"So, how is Neverwinter?" Brianna asked. "What's it like, I mean?"

Neeshka leaned back against her pack and shrugged. The tiefling had just finished licking the remnants of this evening's meal from her fingers and was now brushing crumbs from her tunic.

"Big. Lotsa people. Home." She tilted her head to look at Brianna, who was sitting next to her. "I don't know. What exactly is it you want to know?"

"I'm not sure," Brianna said honestly. "I've never been to any large city. I guess I just don't like walking into a situation without knowing what to expect."

As soon as she had found out that her destination was also the place Neeshka had used to call home, she had realized that she had her first ever decent source on Neverwinter on her hands. So far, however, the other girl had not been too forthcoming with details. Now, Neeshka was tilting her head, considering.

"Well, they rebuilt it completely after the war with Luskan. Pretty nasty business. Luskans still aren't exactly welcome in the city. The city watch has got their hands full trying to make sure they don't let any Luskan spies back into the city. The watch is pretty low on numbers right now, but they're still much too vigilant for my taste." She rolled her eyes.

It had not taken Brianna long to wheedle out of Neeshka exactly how the tiefling made a living. The girl was quick to confess that she had been a cutpurse on the streets of Neverwinter for some time before starting on a career of burglarizing. As soon as Khelgar had heard that bit of information, he had loudly declared that anyone attempting to steal any possession of his was likely to find themselves minus a tiefling tail. Neeshka had acted rather offended, but as soon as Khelgar turned away she had thrown a sheepish glance Brianna's way that suggested she might at least have considered sticking her hands in their pockets and making a run for it.

But she had not, and little by little, Brianna was starting to trust the girl with such things as a shift of the nightly watch. This was the third night the three of them had made camp on their way north to Highcliff, and even though both Khelgar and Neeshka still used every opportunity to bicker and insult each other's races, honor and whatever else they could come up with, they seemed to have accepted each other enough for Brianna not to have to worry about any attempted murders while she was sleeping. They'd chosen quite wisely to avoid the small towns and farms that dotted the landscape on their journey, which meant that all three of them had had to get used to hard ground to sleep on and prickly pine cones to keep them company in their bedrolls.

"You know," Neeshka was saying now, her voice soft, "I'll admit Neverwinter's a crowded city and not really all that pretty, and smelly sometimes when the wind blows up from the harbor, but as I said, it's home. It's not a bad place to live. I do miss it." She had propped her chin thoughtfully onto her hand and was staring into the fire. There was a certqin sadness reflected in her eyes that made Brianna curious.

"Why'd you leave?" she asked.

The tiefling's mouth tightened briefly as she seemed to consider the question.

"I had some business… elsewhere," she said vaguely. Brianna chose not to pry, and Neeshka promptly went on the offensive. "So what about yourself? Why are you on the way to the big city, anyway?"

Next to her, Khelgar's interest seemed to shift from the meat he was chewing on to Brianna. She had given him few facts about her journey so far, and he seemed just as interested as Neeshka in learning more. He was wiping his mouth with his forearm and leaning forward, towards her.

She lowered her head for a moment, considering. Khelgar already knew that there were creatures after her, and Neeshka would find out soon enough if she stuck around. Could it hurt her if she let them know why? It was unlikely that they would even be able to betray her should they want to – the bladelings they had encountered so far had not been in a mood for talking. They had only growled a few threats at her in some strange guttural language before attempting to slice her open. And this whole business with the shard was so bizarre that she was not even certain they would believe her if she told them.

"My village… was attacked," she finally said, taking some time to chose her words.

"Oooh," Neeshka whispered. "And you were the only survivor?" She was excited like a child about the possibility, obviously hoping for a good story.

Brianna almost laughed.

"No, that I wasn't. We fought, and we drove them back eventually… at a cost. But we figured out they were looking for something."

"What for, lass?" Khelgar seemed entranced. Looking at him, it suddenly occurred to Brianna that it had been some time since she had held someone else's attention telling a story, true or not. She'd enjoyed it a lot when she had been little, before things at West Harbor had all gone to the nine hells for her, and it felt rather nice to be doing it again.

"Well, let me start from the beginning," she said and settled back comfortably. The eyes of both the tiefling and the dwarf were glued on her as she paused meaningfully.

"We hold a harvest fair at West Harbor, you see, and as every year, the youth of West Harbor and the surrounding farms went to compete for the harvest cup. It is a prestigious sport, and competition is rather fierce. It was the last year for my friends and me to compete, and we'd been waiting for months to get our chance. We had to scour the entire village for hidden feathers that were sealed away in nasty traps, and we had to defeat wave after wave of atackers in the harvest brawl, and then there was the archery competition where I managed to narrowly edge out our worst adversaries for the win! When the day was over we emerged as the victors, and so everybody was celebrating us that night. We were quite the heroes of the town. There was a grand feast and plenty of dancing and fun. Afterwards, my friends and I were walking along the river at dusk when we suddenly saw plumes of smoke coming from one of the barns. We all went to investigate, of course, and…"

* * *

She woke sometime during the night. Her face was freezing, being the only part so exposed to the night air. The fire seemed to have died down, but a warm body was snuggled close to her, and when she attempted to shift to look at it, she realized that there was a tiefling tail wrapped around her leg. Apparently Neeshka had gotten cold in her sleep, too. Khelgar was snoring not far away, and even though Brianna was usually annoyed by the obnoxious noise, right now it didn't bother her too much.

She had spun the attack on West Harbor and her subsequent journey into some grand tale, embellishing extravagantly, but leaving out some non-relevant details like Wyl's involvement and Amie's death. Both of them were things she knew she would not be able to talk about, nor did she feel any inclination to. But her two mismatched companions had enjoyed her tale, she was certain of that. She smiled to herself. It really had felt nice to…

_Wait a minute. If Khelgar is snoring and Neeshka is laying next to me sleeping, who in the hells is keeping watch?_

She cursed inwardly and sat up, pushing Neeshka's body aside. That was when she heard the guttural growl of a bladeling somewhere between the trees.

_Damn it all to the hells._

Her right hand reached for her pack even while she was shaking Neeshka's body with her left. The tiefling came awake with a start just as Brianna's hand wrapped around the hilt of her short sword.

"Huh?" Neeshka said before Brianna could signal for her to be silent, and a bladeling snarled.

_They know we're awake. Great. And I can't see a fucking thing in the dark._

"Ambush," Brianna hissed, moving fast to wake Khelgar. Her hand had just touched the dwarf's shoulder when Neeshka shrieked, bladelings came crashing into the camp and Khelgar woke all by himself from the noise.

Brianna brought up her sword just in time to block the first attack that came her way. The impact reverberated through her body and made her feel like her arm was going to fall out of its socket. She groaned with pain and blindly lashed out with her sword. More pain was the answer. Some weapon drove itself into her shoulder, and she had no breath left to scream out as her sword slipped out of her hand and she fell to her knees.

The _swoosh_ of a weapon next to her ear made her think that her life was over, but it was her opponent that crumpled to the ground.

_I'm glad Khelgar got his bearings so fast,_ she thought just before hearing the dwarf's battle cry on the other side of the camp.

_What the…?_

Brianna cursed her human eyes for not being able to see a damn thing of what was going on. The shadows were moving all around her, snarling and hissing and shouting. She knew she wasn't going to last long if she just kept sitting in the middle of the camp like she was, presenting a tempting target. Blinding pain was radiating out from her shoulder, and when she brought her hand up to touch it, her fingers came away wet.

"Brianna, move!" Neeshka was yelling very unhelpfully. Brianna could feel the anger welling up inside her at her obvious disadvantage.

"Which way, damn it?" she yelled back. Her right arm was useless, so she groped on the ground with her left and picked up her sword, holding it out protectively before her.

"Down!" Neeshka screeched urgently, and Brianna dropped low. A moment later she received a kick in the ribs, and there was a snarling sound just above her. She thrust her sword blindly and was rewarded with a gurgling sound and the spray of blood on her face. Then some rather heavy body fell on top of her, knocking the wind out of her.

It was surprisingly silent for several second. Then Khelgar started cursing under his breath. Brianna tried to push the dead weight off her body, but that was rather difficult with only one useful arm. Finally, someone came to her assistance, and she breathed in appreciatively.

"Ah-ha!" Neeshka exclaimed triumphantly from somewhere nearby, and a moment later there was a blinding flash of light cutting through the darkness. Several voices groaned in protest.

Brianna winced and shut her eyes, blinking them back open a moment later when she realized that the bright flash had in fact only been a soft glow that was emanating from Neeshka's hand. The tiefling had a smile on her lips.

"I knew this was going to be good for something," she said, waving the object she was holding. It appeared to be some sort of chalice that shone with a golden glow, and while Brianna was still looking at it, Neeshka promptly tossed it to her. Brianna tried to raise both hands to catch it and gasped as fierce pain radiated out from her shoulder.

"Bloody… fucking… _hells_!" she gasped, doubling over.

A hand brushed her shoulder then, and she turned her head, expecting Khelgar. Instead, the glow from the fallen chalice illuminated the features of a woman with dark hair and decidedly elven features.

"Who the fuck are you?" Brianna asked, astonished.

* * *

The warmth of the newly kindled fire encouraged sleepiness, and Brianna did her best to stifle a yawn as she moved her freshly healed shoulder experimentally. The elven woman, who had introduced herself as Elanee, was now busy working on the multiple cuts Khelgar had received during the fight with the remainder of her magical healing power.

"So, let me get this straight." Brianna leaned back, finally satisfied that her skin and muscle had knitted themselves back together as intended. "You've been following me ever since I left West Harbor?" The news should have pissed her off, but she was too tired to feel much of any emotion at the moment. After the fighting, plus a half-hearted argument between Khelgar, Neeshka and herself about who should have been the one keeping watch just before the attack, there wasn't much energy left.

Elanee looked up from her work and gave Brianna a slight smile. The woman seemed to have no clue how close she was to earning Brianna's wrath – or would have been, if Brianna hadn't been beyond sleepy. But still, what damn business did this woman have snooping after her?

"At first, I was following those who attacked you," Elanee admitted after a short pause. Brianna found herself taking one very deep breath to remain calm. "I thought that maybe, my enemie's enemy might welcome my company." There was a subtle edge to her last words. Brianna smiled grimly. Maybe the elven woman was not as oblivious as she had thought.

"So, why did you not reveal yourself earlier, then?" she asked.

Elanee seemed to consider her words for a moment while she sat back and Khelgar dubiously eyed his now healed bicep..

"I was only to follow you, not to interfere," she finally answered. "But I felt I could not simply stand by again and watch you be attacked, and…"

The anger rose like a flare inside Brianna, all tiredness forgotten.

"Oh, now you decided to interfere? How about when I was attacked outside the Willow, did you enjoy following your _orders_ and nearly watching me…" She broke off, glaring. It was ridiculously hard for her to finish the sentence, and the words she should have just spat out like they meant nothing would not leave her tongue.

"Who do you work for, then?" she asked harshly, trying to cover her lapse.

Elanee's eyes were full of something like pity as they regarded Brianna for a moment.

_Don't you fucking dare feel sorry for me. I was doing just fine until you came along._

"I am a member of the circle of the Mere," Elanee announced, as though this was the answer to all questions they could possibly throw at her. Khelgar made a dismissive noise in his throat.

"A tree-worshipper, eh?"

Brianna was annoyed at herself for not figuring it out earlier. The woman obviously possessed some sort of healing magic, and she was not dressed as a woman of faith would be. Neither did she act like one, for that matter. There was something grating about the elven woman's mannerisms, about the way she was so cheerfully certain of herself and acted as though her task and subsequent presence in their camp was something none of them quite had the mental capacity to fully understand.

Brianna loathed being treated as though she had the brains of a five-year-old. Unfortunately, at the moment this seemed to be the capacity her mind was working at.

"So?" was the only question that came to her mind.

"Well, I come bearing more than just words," Elanee said calmly. "I know you are bound for Neverwinter – seeking safety behind walls, no doubt – and I think you would welcome a safer path. I know nature's hidden trails better than most."

"We've been doing just fine so far," Brianna said coldly.

"Nonetheless, do you not wish to avoid another incident such as tonight?" Elanee asked. "With me guiding you, you would reach Highcliff faster and be hidden from those that pursue you at the same time."

_She's right, damn it all, and I hate that she is._

"Well, lass, much as I don't like to say it, that might come in handy," Khelgar grumbled, expressing Brianna thoughts. She glared at him.

"Just sayin'," the dwarf defended himself. "All that fightin' and gettin' ambushed is gettin' tiresome, even for me."

"Some fighter you are," Neeshka piped up, going on collision course with Khelgar as usual. Brianna still wasn't sure whether the tiefling genuinely disagreed with the dwarf on most issues, or whether this was some calculating move on her part. Either way, it wasn't very helpful just now.

"Can you all please shut up?" she asked just as Khelgar had started on a rebuttal and Neeshka tried to talk over him. They promptly fell silent. Brianna, who still wasn't used to people actually doing what she told them to do, rather enjoyed that moment. She turned to Elanee with a frown.

"We'll accept," she told the elven woman. "But I'll say right now that I don't trust you, and you'd better not try anything funny. You'll lead us to Highcliff and nothing more, no side tours or other business we didn't agree to."

"Your mistrust is misplaced," Elanee replied. "But I know that you have had precious little reason to trust on your journey so far, so I will overlook it."

Brianna was glaring again.

_Condescending bitch._

But if Elanee actually delivered on her promise, she was worth putting up with for the moment. The sooner they got to Highcliff, and from there to Neverwinter, the sooner she would be able to get rid of that damn shard and all the danger and obligations that came with it.

And that included putting up with grating, high-nosed elven druids.


	9. Haunted

_Author's Note: It's been a while since I last updated this story - NaNo kept me away at first, and afterward this chapter went through three separate, increasingly painful rewrites. I'm still not happy with it, but I think I need to get this up in order to get back in the groove of things, so here it is. I hope it's not as terrible as it seems to me after overthinking every single thing in it. _

* * *

**Haunted**

_West Harbor was quite this day, almost unnaturally so. People should have been busy working, but Brianna couldn't see any of them as she passed the village green. She had a funny feeling, as though something was off in the village, and the breeze she felt on her cheeks carried a hint of woodsmoke. She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled, trying to figure it out. _

_Smoke. Fire. Now she remembered. The village was burning, and they had all fled and left her behind. _

_When she opened her eyes again, the houses were on fire. _

_There wasn't a way out, she was surrounded by crackling flames everywhere. The smoke was thick, she would likely suffocate, and her body would burn to ash. But just as she thought it, she spotted a gap between two houses that was untouched, just large enough for her to pass through without being consumed by the fire to either side. She raced towards it, and slipped inside just before the village green, behind her, also began to burn. _

_She still wasn't safe, but there was someone blocking her way ahead. It was Amie. Amie had come back to get her to safety. _

_Brianna found herself wanting to call out a warning to her friend, but the smoke was thick in the air, choking her. Finally she reached her friend and put a hand on Amie's shoulder. The other girl's hair was singed, and she was doubled over now, coughing. _

"_We need to run," Brianna finally managed to say. "The village is on fire."_

_Amie only shook her head. the flames had caught up to them now and were licking at their clothes. Brianna tried to pull Amie to her feet, but the other girl was resisting. _

"_You lie," Amie said. "You always lie. There is no fire."_

_Brianna's sleeve caught on fire then, and she tried to push past her friend and run, but Amie grabbed her wrist. Then the other girl straightened and turned towards Brianna, and she realized that it was not Amie at all. It was Wyl. _

_He was dead. His flesh half-rotten and charred, he grinned at her. _

"_Miss me, Storm?" he asked, now in his own voice. _

_She pulled away from his grasp and stumbled backwards, into the flames._

* * *

Brianna awoke, shaking uncontrollably. Her skin was slick with sweat and she could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she stared into the darkness, trying to chase away the images that the dream had left her with. Her blankets had wrapped around her while she had slept, and they were soaked with her sweat. She struggled to throw them off before sitting up.

She felt rotten. She'd tried so hard to shut away the worst memories of what had happened in West Harbor, to leave it all behind, but in a single dream it had all come back to her. Her stomach was churning.

Clumsily, she reached out with one hand to touch the chalice sitting by her bed, the one Neeshka had left her with. The room was bathed in a low, golden light. It should have helped to chase the images away that were still flitting around in Brianna's head, but it did nothing of the sort. On the contrary, it felt like the shadows cast by the chalice were haunting her. She was still trembling when she got to her feet and splashed some water from the basin onto her face.

"It's over," she told herself loudly. "Over and done with."

But she couldn't keep her voice steady as she said it, and looking back from the tiny mirror leaning next to the basin were still the eyes of the weak, scared girl she knew so well and hated so much. The girl who'd let Amie die, who had never been able to fight off Wyl.

The image entered her head before she could help it. Wyl, as dead in her dreams as he was in life, but still able to haunt her. But it wasn't until she remembered the foreboding look in foul, rotting face, that mixture of desire and open cruelty she had read in his eyes, that her stomach gave one final, sickening lurch and she was on her knees, nausea overpowering her.

* * *

Brianna was huddled in her blanket by the stair landing a while later when Neeshka found her. The tiefling simply sat down next to her, arms folded.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine." Brianna rubbed her hand over her face, hoping her eyes weren't quite as bloodshot anymore. "I had a nightmare."

"Must have been one hell of a nightmare," Neeshka commented. "I heard you," she added after Brianna shot her a questioning look. "The, um… retching."

"I'm better now."

"I see that."

There was a moment of silence before Neeshka reached out to touch Brianna's arm, and with surprising softness in her voice, the tiefling asked: "Anything you want to talk about?"

Brianna shook her head before even really considering the offer. No, her West Harbor demons were definitely not something she wanted to talk about with anyone. She should be glad enough to have gotten away from the place.

"It's none of my business, I suppose," the tiefling shrugged. Brianna was about to dismiss the comment with a nod when Neeshka continued. "Not hard to guess though, you know. I know I don't mind spending a few days around drunks with gold in their pockets, but you should have seen your face when we were talking to Mayne."

Brianna grimaced. The gods knew she tried her hardest never to be easy to read, and usually she wasn't, but it had been difficult to keep her emotions under control when she had been ready to punch that damnable village elder in the face. She'd had to leave the talking to Elanee, because part of her had snapped completely at Elder Mayne's words.

Thinking about it now, she still found her reaction quite understandable. She had been running for days, tromping through wilderness growing so high she'd not been able to see the horizon, putting up with Elanee's grating, overbearing ways, constantly fearing that bladelings would crash through the undergrowth and attempt to take her life. All according to the plan Daeghun had proposed to her, the one way to fool and misdirect those who pursued her and the shard. And then Mayne had brought that plan crashing down around her, had somehow even managed to beg for their help while Brianna's mind was still busy realizing that she was stuck in this damnable place. Stuck, with plenty of bloodthirsty creatures on her tail.

She knew for certain that those she was trying to outrun had not given up. The secret paths the druidess had promised, and delivered, had bought them time, but no more. Every second she spent holed up in this place the bladelings were drawing closer, and after witnessing the destruction in West Harbor, Brianna had no illusions about how long the flimsy inn doors would hold back any invaders intent on causing her harm.

She did not want to die in Highcliff. But, unless some miracle happened to send her on her way, she would. And she hadn't a clue what to do about it.

_All because of some thrice-damned lizardfolk that can't stay in the swamp where they belong._

She hadn't the slightest bit of respect for the villagers of Highcliff who had let themselves be bullied by the clan of lizardmen Elder Mayne had told them was on the loose, sinking ships and attacking farms. If a thing like this had happened at West Harbor, Brianna knew it would have taken Georg all of five minutes to rally the militia and have them prepared to fight lizards. It was a simple matter of harborman stubbornness.

The villagers of Highcliff, however, seemed content to wait for the help that might never come from Neverwinter, faring worse every day. It was pathetic.

A touch on her hand startled her from her thoughts. She looked up just in time to see the tiefling's tail flick back towards its owner.

"Sorry," Neeshka said sheepishly. "I suppose it makes me nervous, seeing you so upset, you know."

"Why?"

Neeshka pulled up her shoulder in a slow shrug.

"I'm not sure. It's just that Khelgar usually barrels ahead without a second thought about me, and Elanee is too afraid I'll steal her badger, but you, well… you haven't given me that feeling. That you distrust me, I mean. More than you should, anyway." She raised a hand to scratch her horn. "It means something."

"It doesn't mean anything."

The words had tumbled out of her mouth before Brianna had taken the time to consider whether alienating Neeshka over this was really such a good idea. The other girl's shoulders slumped, but she remained persistent.

"So why'd you take me along?" Neeshka asked simply, and Brianna had no answer.

She'd spent a lot of time thinking about it, after they had passed Fort Locke. Her brain had churned over the incident with the soldiers many times, and she had wondered what had triggered that one moment of insanity. It had been a sudden feeling of kinship, of misguided sympathy, she knew that now, but she still couldn't explain it.

Unfortunately, her inability to rationalize the incident had led to Neeshka now putting a sort of trust in her that she wasn't comfortable with. She didn't mind the tiefling's company, but she also didn't want to delude herself into thinking of the girl as a friend.

Neeshka kept shifting on the stairs, apparently uncomfortable with the silence her question had brought about. Finally, she spoke again.

"I don't understand why you don't simply go back home."

Brianna snorted through her nose at the absurd words.

"What, to West Harbor?"

Neeshka bit her lip, and they were both silent for a moment.

"I'd give a lot for a place like that," the tiefling admitted quietly, and Brianna gave her an incredulous stare.

"A place like what?"

"Just a place." Neeshka had turned her face away. "Somewhere I'd be wanted."

Something clicked then in Brianna's head as she recalled the tale she had spun by the fire, nights ago, when she'd been asked about her journey.

"They don't want me there," she admitted quietly. "They never did. It was just a story, Neeshka."

The tiefling was quiet for a long time. The only sound around them was the creaking of wood as one of them shifted their weight on the stairs.

"You're a good liar," Neeshka finally conceded.

"Yes, I know." Brianna stared at her hands. "It's what I do."

"Hells, so do I." Neeshka broke into a sudden grin. "But you're better at it than I am."

"I've had to be," Brianna said vaguely. She really didn't want to get into _that_ topic either.

_Why is it Neeshka keeps bringing up things I really don't want to talk about?_

She gave the other girl an apologetic smile as she rose from the stairs and grasped her blanket with both hands.

"I'll go back to bed, I think," she announced, and the other girl nodded, looking somewhat forlorn. "Thanks for the talk."

With that, she stumbled back to her room.

* * *

"It would be much more prudent to find out the reason behind their actions before rushing into anything. Even you have to admit that."

Khelgar huffed dismissively.

"Don't care much for their reasons, elf, and ye won't either when they come at you wi' those spears of theirs."

The argument was in full swing when Brianna entered the main floor. All three of her companions were standing by the door, and with Khelgar not bothering to keep his voice down, the dispute was obvious to everyone in a rather wide radius.

"But there must be a reason for a lizardling tribe to come this far north. They are away from their natural habitat and methodically attacking a human settlement – both of these are unusual. We should investigate their reasons before we make any rash decisions."

"What are you going to do, just walk up to them and ask?" Neeshka demanded to know. Her voice took on a high-pitched, whiny quality as she imitated Elanee. 'Oh hello, I would like to ask you a few important questions before you run me through with that really pointy spear of yours, Mister Lizard, Sir!" She fluttered her eyelashes at the imaginary lizardman in front of her.

As amusing as it was for Brianna to listen to her companions arguing, she was impatient to know what Elanee had found out. The druidess had been gone since the previous day, after she had informed Brianna of her intentions to find out as much as she could about the lizardling threat. Whatever it was, Elanee seemed even more determined to go parlay with the clan than she had been when they had first talked to Mayne.

"What's the word?" she asked tiredly, approaching the three. Khelgar, who had just opened his mouth for a rebuttal, closed it again and gave Brianna a gruff nod.

"The druid's found somethin'," he acknowledged.

"A likely hiding place from which the lizardlings may have been striking," Elanee supplied. "We should approach them carefully, and – "

"Attempt to talk to them," Brianna finished. "I know. You think they'll listen to reason, Khelgar wants to go swinging his axe, and Neeshka would rather stay and rob the local tavern's patrons."

"Just the obnoxious ones," the tiefling corrected.

As far as choices went, this wasn't much of one. Brianna _needed_ this problem taken care of, and while she couldn't see the lizardlings being up for a chat, there was no better alternative than to support Elanee's plan. If things went wrong, she supposed they could always set Khelgar loose and hope for the best.

* * *

Brianna finally found some time to think as they followed the path out of Highcliff. The wheat fields to either side of them were gleaming in the afternoon sun, and a gentle breeze was cooling her face. It was all rather peaceful. She needed to forcibly remind herself that there was a very real danger of running into a pack of lizardlings past the next bend, and she wisely let Khelgar lead the way, falling back to the last position in the group.

Leaving Highcliff had been uncomfortable. Elanee, the damned foolish woman, had informed Elder Mayne of her intent to help, and the old man had promptly announced this to the people of Highcliff. While they had prepared to leave, they had been sought out by farmers after farmers wishing them good luck.

Ordinarily, Brianna would have been more than reluctant to follow the druid on a quest that seemed nearly suicidal in its making.

_But it's not like I have a damn choice in the matter._

The residents of Highcliff, for whatever reason, had decided to take the lizardling attacks lying down and to play victim. Brianna wasn't quite able to understand their reluctance in getting a force and _do_ something instead of waiting for help that would more than likely never come. The bandits that plagued the high road had seen to keeping the soldiers busy. Bu, by Leira's breath, there were enough sailors getting drunk in Highcliff's tavern that were probably more than willing to throw themselves at the lizardmen given some ale, a weapon and a rousing speech. Yet Elder Mayne hadn't only left them to their drunkenness instead of utilizing them, he had also made the decision that all of Highcliff was to be sitting in town waiting out the attacks instead of trying to do a gods-damned thing about them. The man was really a complete idiot.

So after the Elder's example of utter passivity, it shouldn't really have been much of a surprise that the villagers were ecstatic about someone willing to take action, she supposed. It just made her furious that the task had fallen to her group. If she didn't need to get to Neverwinter so urgently, she would not have any qualms about leaving the bunch of cowardly villagers and their inept elder to starve and Elanee to chat to the lizardfolk by herself.

She was so busy brooding that it took her a moment to notice that Neeshka had fallen back and was now walking next to her. The tiefling had not been too excited about her decision to try and find the tribe, and Brianna sympathized with her. Khelgar was excited by the possibility of smashing some heads and Elanee was apparently under the impression that lizardlings were nothing but poor, misguided creatures needing her help. Both of them fit the hero bill much more than Neeshka or Brianna herself, who would both rather just have turned their backs on Highcliff, given half a choice.

"I feel something," the tiefling admitted. "Something in the ground… beneath my feet. Just traces, but it's there. And getting stronger the further north we're walking."

"What kind of thing?" Brianna decided not to point out that Neeshka's abrupt statement sounded rather ominous.

"Did you hear Elanee and Mayne talking earlier?" the other girl asked. "About these ruins we're going to. Mayne said there'd been a battle here a long time ago, lots of demons and devils and dark magic thrown around."

Brianna stared.

"You can _feel_ that sort of thing? Fiend magic?"

Neeshka nodded almost sheepishly.

"Ancestry bonus." She pointed at her horns, not looking entirely happy. "Believe me, I'd rather not be aware of it."

Brianna believed that right away.

"And you said it's getting stronger the closer we get to the ruins?"

Neeshka nodded again, causing Brianna to bring her hands to her face and sigh.

"Lovely. This place is going to be interesting."

* * *

As they approached the Highcliff Castle ruins, Neeshka was getting more and more uncomfortable. She kept biting her lips, and on occasion Brianna caught her squirming as though her armor was itching her.

"Still the fiend magic?" she asked, and the other girl nodded.

"It's stronger here," Neeshka said. "This place _really_ must have an interesting history."

She refused to say any more, but dawdled behind everyone else when they made their way past the half-crumbled walls that had once surrounded a courtyard. Brianna surveyed the ruin with some skepticism; she wasn't entirely convinced that the place was stable.

"Lizardling tracks," Elanee pointed out, peering at the ground in the near-darkness. "We seem to be in the right place, at least."

"Well then, let's get to it." Khelgar raised his axe with enthusiasm. Brianna followed the dwarf through the doorway and down the crumbling stone stairs. Elanee followed on her heels, and a reluctant Neeshka sidled along after them all.

They entered what had certainly once been the castle's basement. The stone floor, which looked like it might once have been tiled, now had more cracks than solid stone and was covered in a thick layer of dirt and dust. Cobwebs swung slowly to and fro in the putrid, stale air. Brianna was using the glowing chalice to light her way as they walked around the first corner.

"You sure the lizardlings are in here?" she asked Elanee in a whisper. "This place looks like no one's been here in ages. Smells like it, too."

The druidess tried to smile confidently, but failed. Brianna did not like that answer. None of them were expert trackers, but it seemed to Brianna that if the lizardlings had used this ruin even just as a temporary base, she should be able to see the evidence. Dozens of lizardlings stomping through the hallway several times should have left tracks in the dirt even she could find.

She was starting to have a very bad feeling about this whole thing.

"Lass," Khelgar whispered. The dwarf had turned around and was nodding at the glowing chalice. "Turn that off fer a moment, will ye?"

She thought about protesting, and likely would have if it had been anyone but Khelgar asking. The dwarf usually had a point when it came to things like this. Besides, she could always get the light to come back with nothing but a thought.

For a moment, they were plunged in darkness. Then Brianna's eyes began to adapt, and even though she could not see as much as the other three, the fact that she _could_ see was interesting all by itself.

A door further on the right side of the hallway was standing partially open. A flickering, eerily blue light was emanating from the gap. It kept changing, as though something was moving, and Brianna's bad feeling promptly got worse.

Switching the chalice to her left hand, she drew her sword with her right. Elanee glanced at her and raised her sickle without argument.

If even _she_ thinks we should have our weapons out instead of getting ready to parlay, something's _really_ wrong.

Brianna motioned for everyone to stay where they were while she moved slowly towards the door. She didn't much relish the thought of bearing the brunt of any attack that might be coming their way, but she needed to know what was in that room. She chose each step carefully, squinting at the floor to make sure to avoid any stray pebbles. Finally she reached the door and stepped close to it, forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly. She was careful to position herself so she could not be easily seen by anyone who might be inside.

It took some careful shifting and ducking until she could survey the room properly. What she saw made her blood turn cold.

It was not just the shimmering apparition in the middle of the room, or even the black-robed figure talking to the apparition that made her feel particularly uneasy. They were alarming enough by themselves, but the corpses littering the floor, and the bloodied altar behind the robed figure were what truly made Brianna realize that she should have listened to that foreboding feeling of hers when it had first surfaced. This had nothing to do with the lizardlings they were looking for. And, whatever this was, it was most certainly _not_ something she wanted to get caught up in.

"…on Fort Locke?" A voice drifted to Brianna's ear, and she realized that the apparition was speaking. She strained to listen.

"They proceed well enough," the robed figure replied. "The soldiers are too busy combating bandits to perceive us as a threat just yet."

A hand touched her arm, and she almost gave herself away jumping with fright. Next to her, Neeshka was crouching, her head tilted attentively. The same girl that had been so reluctant to enter the ruins was now displaying entirely too much curiosity for her own good. Brianna waved her away, but Neeshka simply shrugged and continued to listen.

"…continue to serve me well," the apparition was saying. "Thus far, I am satisfied."

"We both serve the same master." The robed man's tone had acquired a certain edge. "You would do well to remember that there are no hierarchies before-"

A pebble clattered against the stone floor.

Brianna never did find out who had caused the noise, whether it had been a rat or some other animal running along the hallway, whether Khelgar had taken one clumsy step forward or Elanee had lost her footing for a moment. But the apparition vanished with a pop, and then the robed figure whipped around before she could react and was staring straight at Brianna.

And then the dead were rising.


	10. Empty Words

**Empty Words**

_Brianna._

She heard the voice as though through a fog. Everything was dull and dark. Something soft was all around her and she felt as though she was floating.

_Brianna! _

More urgent now, cutting through the fog instead of being dampened by it. She wanted to tell it to go away and leave her, but found that she could not speak. Could not even move. Why was that?

She vaguely recalled fighting, but that was over now, wasn't it? She was probably just exhausted, needing to rest and regain her strength. Yes, that was it. Whoever was calling had better leave her alone.

_Brianna, godsbedamned, wake up! Wake up!_

The pain jolted through her like a lightning bolt as she opened her eyes. Sensations hit her like a whirlwind, and for a moment it was all just a jumble of ringing steel and vile smell.

The fight was not over. Not by a long shot.

Someone grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. Brianna raised her numb arms and tried to ward off Neeshka's hands, but the tiefling was rather insistent.

"I'm 'wake," Brianna mumbled, and let Neeshka pull her to her feet. Her sword slipped off her lap and clattered to the floor, and she left it there. The gods knew she had tried to attack, slicing the rotten skin off the first zombie who had come her way, but the vile monstrosity hadn't been bothered in the slightest. She had ducked under the first swing that had come her way and barely dodged the second, but the third…

She did not remember the third attack, and she was pretty certain that the reason for that was directly related to her passing out in the middle of the stone floor.

"The cleric," said Neeshka. Brianna's attention finally turned to where it should have been some time ago. On the other side of the room, Khelgar and Elanee were flanking the one remaining zombie. Elanee's badger had dug its teeth into the dark priest's robe and he was pulling desperately, but the robed man was not to be disturbed as his hands moved in the gestures of yet another spell that would almost certainly raise even more undead.

"We need to stop him," Neeshka said unnecessarily, and then she was gone and Brianna stumbled, suddenly without support. She watched as the tiefling ran towards the robed figure, dagger drawn. The ceric saw her coming, however, and he avoided Neeshka's blade easily.

"Bree!" Neeshka shrieked.

_Helping her would probably be the sensible thing to do, given that we're most likely fucked if he finishes that spell._

Brianna moved sluggishly. Her body was still mostly numb and her fingers were prickling uncomfortably. She was not exactly in the best condition to be entering combat. Nevertheless she circled around Khelgar, Elanee and the zombie, keeping to the wall for support. Neeshka spotted her and promptly circled the other way. The priest turned with her as not to lose sight of the tiefling, and Brianna drew her dagger with a shaking hand and rushed forward.

She had done this lots of times now, fighting bladelings, and even with only little feeling in her hand she was able to guide her dagger into the upwards arc that would find its end just below the priest's ribs, driving upwards into unprotected flesh.

Except, Brianna realized as her dagger slipped sideways and a sharp pain shot through her wrist, the priest was anything but unprotected.

"Plate mail, under his robe," Neeshka gasped slightly too late for it to be of any benefit to Brianna. She stumbled back, clutching her wrist.

At least they had accomplished what they had set out to do. The cleric had interrupted the spell he had been casting. Brianna was no longer certain that this was a good thing, however, because he had turned towards her now and was chanting again. She tried to avoid his hand as he reached for her, but her body had still not fully recovered and she was simply too slow.

Cold fingers brushed her cheek. The chill spread rapidly, racing along her veins and draining her of strength as it went. She moaned helplessly and fell to her knees.

_So cold…_

She sat on the stone floor, shivering violently, no longer in control of her body. The dagger had slipped from her grasp. She focused all of her will on bringing her hand forward to grasp it again, but her arm seemed frozen in place and trying to move it hurt so much, so very much.

Hot blood splashed onto her face. The liquid warmed her icy cheeks, and suddenly she found herself able to look up at the cleric, watching as he brought up one hand to try and staunch the flow of blood from the gaping, fatal wound in his throat.

_Nice going, Neeshka._

Brianna sank to the floor in exhaustion just as Khelgar shattered the skull of the last remaining zombie into a thousand pieces.

* * *

"Negative energy," Elanee explained. The druidess was kneeling next to Brianna, her hands hovering uncertainly. "Vile, dark magic. I'm afraid I have no spell to counter the effects."

"Of what use are you, then?" Brianna muttered. Elanee withdrew her hands, looking offended.

"I spent the last of my magic bringing down undead that might have killed you, if…"

"Not helping," Neeshka hissed. "We don't know who else might be down here looking to set zombies on us, so shut it and keep watch." The tiefling stuffed the ragged blankets more tightly around Brianna and then went to rummage through her pack. Elanee wordlessly got to her feet and joined Khelgar, who was guarding the doorway, axe raised.

"Thanks," Brianna whispered. Elanee had been grating on her frayed nerves. Neeshka winked and returned to Brianna's side. She held something in her hands.

"Here, drink this. I don't think it'll get rid of the effect, but it might help a bit."

Neeshka uncorked the vial and held it out to Brianna, who took it and sniffed carefully. The potion Neeshka wanted her to drink smelled like dirt and wild berries, and she took a cautious sip.

"All of it, down," Neeshka commanded. Brianna obeyed, and gasped as she began to feel the liquid's effects. A warmth spread through her muscles, masking the effects of the cleric's spell. She felt better at once, not yet recovered, but able to move.

"What did ye give her?" Khelgar asked curiously. "Seems to be workin' well enough."

"Strength potion," Neeshka shrugged and closed her pack again. "Nicked it from a temple a while back."

"Ye _stole_ from a temple?"

"Oh, don't get your beard in a knot. At least I'm helping," Neeshka said acidly.

"Would you both please stop?" Brianna snapped. "I'm trying to think."

They fell silent, and Brianna propped her head onto her hands in thought.

The situation was pretty convoluted. They had set out to find a pack of lizardlings but had run into some priest of darkness instead. The priest was dead and therefore no longer an issue, but the apparition he had been talking to about what had sounded like some plan to attack Fort Locke worried Brianna. It meant that there was a very real danger of retribution if the person behind the apparition ever found out who had killed the priest. On top of that, they were now fresh out of leads to find the lizardlings. She had no clue how they might proceed from here.

"We'd best get out of here, don't ye think, lass?" Khelgar was eying her with a worried expression. "Ye need rest. We'll make a new plan back at Highcliff, eh?"

"Not much of a choice, is there?" Brianna said bitterly and got to her feet. The rate at which roadblocks were thrown her way was infuriating. Couldn't there be one thing going her way every once in a while?

She gathered up the blanket and made her way towards the door and the rest of the group, stepping gingerly through the mass of half-rotten corpses that littered the way. Not all of them had risen at the dark cleric's command, but she was certain that they would have if they had given him the opportunity to cast more spells. It seemed as though the cleric had been gathering body after body in this room, stockpiling them. Given more time, the man might have succeeded in raising a small army.

Brianna shuddered. This reminded her too much of the dream she'd had the previous night. She'd never come in contact with necromancy before, but this once was enough for her to know with certainty that she never wanted to encounter it again. She gave her companions a grim nod once she had reached them.

"Let's get out of this place."

"Glad to hear it," Khelgar grumbled. "The air's foul with the stench of death."

Brianna nodded and turned to give the room one more sweeping glance. Then she froze.

One of the many corpses on the floor, half buried under a fallen zombie, was scaly with a greenish sheen in the light of Neeshka's chalice. A lizardman.

"Sorry Khelgar," she said. "Looks like we don't get to leave yet after all."

* * *

The soft hissing sounds were barely audible through the thickness of the door. Brianna held her breath as she strained to listen, the other three crowding around her.

"Do you understand what they're saying?" Neeshka breathed.

Brianna shook her head. She was certain the sounds were of lizardling origin, but they were too faint for her to be able to make out any words.

"So what's the plan?" the tiefling asked.

_Why in the hells am I always expected to have a plan? Elanee's the one who had this stupid idea._

"No plan," she said, straightening up. "We're just going to go in and have friendly talk with them."

She opened the door before Neeshka could protest, and pushed Elanee into the room. There was hostile snarling, but little movement, and after several seconds Brianna made her way after the druidess.

There were indeed lizardmen in the room, four of them, chained to the walls. One of them was slumped over, unconscious, but the other three held their heads high in defiance. One threw himself against his bonds in a futile attempt at aggression.

"Good evening to you too," Elanee said politely. She sounded extremely nervous.

"Human!" another of the lizardmen hissed in common. "Come to kill!"

Elanee's hair _was_ hiding her ears, so Brianna supposed the lizardling's faulty conclusion was excusable. Then again, maybe they weren't talking about Elanee but about her, considering that none of them were actually looking at Elanee. The druidess was giving Brianna a silent, pleading look that seemed to give credence to this second idea.

_Fine. I'll play Elanee's game, for now. Let's see how far it gets us._

"I've no intention of killing you," Brianna cocked her head and looked straight at the lizardman. She tried her best to remain outwardly calm despite the bubbling nervousness in her gut. "In fact, I have come to free you."

The lizardman squinted at her suspiciously.

"Human lies!" he hissed. "Human in league with dead that walk!"

Brianna groaned inwardly. Few things were as exasperating as a lizardman who was genuinely thick.

"I killed the dead that walk," she said slowly. "I am not in league with them."

Elanee turned to Neeshka, who was shifting uncomfortably. "Can you pick those locks on their restraints?"

"Well, I _could_," Neeshka said, openly skeptical. "Are you sure you don't want to think this over?"

"I am certain," Elanee nodded. "I believe they are honorable."

Brianna rolled her eyes, and the tiefling made a face, but unhooked one of her lockpicks from her belt and went to work. The lizardmen stared, dumbfounded.

"Why is your clan attacking the boats in the harbor of Highcliff?" Brianna asked. The same lizardman as before answered.

"Humans need boats to walk on water. If we break boats, humans go away."

By the gods, that's one of the most flawed plans I've ever heard.

Brianna waited until the first of the restraints opened with an audible _click_. Neeshka cautiously retreated several steps as the lizardman's arm came free, but he only stared.

Good. He's calm enough to listen to reason. Simple reason.

"I have spoken with the humans of Highcliff," she said. "They will not go away, no matter how many of their boats you sink."

The lizardman squinted at her, and she held his gaze. She half expected him to accuse her of lying again, but he remained silent. He appeared to be thinking.

Another _click_ broke the silence. The lizardman was free. Still he did not make a move, however.

"Clan must keep fighting," he finally told Brianna. "Clan not have choice. Warmbloods always want to kill lizardmen."

Brianna was careful not to change her stance or avert her eyes as she contemplated her reply. Now she was entering the realm of invention.

"They have not attempted to kill you yet," she pointed out, neglecting to mention that this was for the simple reason that Highcliff consisted entirely of cowards. "They want peace, but if you keep sinking their boats, they will soon find themselves without choice. They will find your clan and kill all of you."

"Then clan will fight," the lizardman replied evenly.

"And you will lose," Brianna said. "Their warriors are too strong."

Neeshka gave her an incredulous stare for a moment, but then the tiefling's eyes widened in realization and her face turned carefully blank. Brianna tried not to let it distract her.

"Warmbloods are weak," said the lizardman. "Warmbloods will lose."

"I fought and killed all of the walking dead here," Brianna pointed out. "And I killed their master, the one who imprisoned you here." She did hope she was right about that.

"You strong," the lizardman admitted.

"And Highcliff's warriors are stronger than me by far," Brianna invented. "They are larger and faster than me, and they wield their weapons with more skill than I do."

"Then clan will die with honor."

"Wouldn't you rather not die at all?" Brianna asked. The lizardman stared in confusion, and she simplified. "Clan need not die."

"How?"

Brianna took a deep breath. This was it. She did not need to see Elanee's encouraging nods to know what she had to ask for.

"Take me to your chieftain," she said pompously. "And we will negotiate peace."

It took Neeshka several minutes to free the rest of the lizardmen. As they finally left the room with the lizardlings and made their way back to where Khelgar was waiting, the tiefling pulled Brianna aside.

"You," she said, "are the most silver-tongued human I have ever met." She sounded enormously impressed. "I can't believe you made that hare-brained plan of Elanee's actually work."

"Let's hope I can keep it up," Brianna replied. "That chieftain will be a much harder nut to crack."

"What are you going to do if he doesn't want peace?"

Brianna gave Neeshka a grim smile.

"Keep Khelgar very, very close to me."


	11. Ripples and Waves

**Ripples and Waves**

That night, Brianna found a spot on the cliffs overlooking the harbor that was out of the way enough for her to be undisturbed. After the peace treaty had been finalized and announced, the villagers had begun a celebration in the tavern that had turned rather loud and raunchy during the past several hours. Brianna did not have the stomach for it just now.

Instead, she spent her time staring into the night, knees hugged to her chest. It was deceptively calm up here, and she found herself almost able to let go of the fear that had been her constant companion ever since she had been on the road.

Part of her mind was ever circling around the question of why it had to be her. Why had everything aligned against her so, forced her to meet dangers head on that she had no idea how to withstand? It was a miracle that she had even lived this long, and she had no desire to speculate on how long her luck would hold.

And for what? So she could run Daeghun's damned errand. Her foster father had knowingly tied her to this task that might well mean her death, and once again she thought what she had thought many times during her journey – she'd never forgive him for it. Daeghun could have recruited anyone, maybe someone from the militia, or even the cleric, Brother Merring, who had traveled far and wide and knew how to wield his god-given power.

But instead he had chosen a useless girl whose only talent was to twist words around if she put her mind to it. If she had ever before claimed to understand her foster father in the slightest, this would have proven her a liar.

She closed her hand over one of the many loose rocks strewn about as sudden rage flared up inside her mind, and flung it down the cliff. The splash that followed some seconds later was disappointingly small.

And after she had taken care of this mess with the shard that wasn't even hers to sort out? She'd never really given a thought to what she would do if she ever managed to make it out of West Harbor. Dreamed, of course, especially when she had been little, but not of anything that approached the reality she found herself in.

"_I cannot deny that I am disappointed in you."_

Her foster father's words suddenly rang in her mind. Words from so long ago.

_But it wasn't my fault!_

The words were on her tongue even now, waiting to be said, because she never had. Daeghun would have chastised her even further for attempting to dodge responsibility. He'd always been big on responsibility.

_"You need to have a talk with Brianna."_ Retta's voice was cool and distant. _"It happened again."_

"_He started it!"_

_"She's lying again, Daeghun."_

She couldn't remember ever having thought that life was particularly fair or beautiful. When she had been little, she'd been under the impression that she was missing something important, some piece of a puzzle that would lead to it all making some sense, that would magically make her understand why things were the way they were, why she was the person that she was. That's where the dreams had found their fuel - in a vain delusion.

Brianna brought a flat hand to her forehead and tried to chase the memories away by pressing down as hard as she could. She had no desire to dwell on the thoughts of the naïve little girl she had been. Not long after that time, she had given up on dreaming for good and spent her energy on dealing with the reality she'd been dealt. It had been a necessity, but also a much-needed improvement.

And then, one early evening, Wyl Mossfeld had walked with her along the river, and he'd been the first person who'd paid any attention to her in a very long time. She'd been so surprised by it that she had let down her guard and allowed him past it, and she'd thought that it would be nice to have someone she could talk to. She had allowed herself to dream just a little bit, for the first time in a very long time.

And then, of course, he had shattered not only that fragile dream but all the ones she'd ever had, and _finally_, that naïve little girl had learned her lesson about how life really worked.

Brianna blinked. She hadn't meant to invite all of these thoughts back into her head. Maybe sitting by herself had not been such a good idea after all. She welcomed the footsteps she now heard approaching, because they, at least, would provide a much-needed distraction.

"Hey there, hero of Highcliff."

Neeshka dropped onto the rocky ground beside Brianna, who gave the tiefling a dark look. Neeshka's expression sobered.

"Sorry," the other girl apologized. "Not enjoying the attention, huh?"

Brianna shook her head. She had done what she'd done in order to be able to continue her journey, not to play savior to a town that could not help itself. She wished that Elanee hadn't been quite so eager to announce their plans before they had departed for the ruins, because the entire town had been waiting for their return with bated breath.

Now, Brianna, who had learned a long time ago that life was made bearable by escaping attention as much as possible, had suddenly found herself in the center of it all. She hated every moment of it. She was also quite certain that Neeshka had picked up on her discomfort.

The tiefling didn't comment on it, however, but instead reached into a pocket of her tunic and dropped several clinking coins into Brianna's lap.

"Here. To cheer you up."

Brianna grinned into the darkness and closed her hands around the money. As much as she had distrusted Neeshka from the start because of those light fingers of hers, she had to admit that she was enjoying the spoils.

"Thanks. Whose were they?"

Oh, you know, just someone's," Neeshka said vaguely. Brianna threw her a quizzical look, and the tiefling shrugged and sighed.

"Oh, alright, some drunk in the tavern who was groping me, so to get even I took his coinpurse. And that of his friend."

"Good work," Brianna complimented her, pocketing the gold.

"Thanks!" This time, it was Neeshka who was grinning.

Both of them were quiet for some time. Brianna dropped her eyes and watched the reflections of the harbor's lights dancing in the waves. Tomorrow, finally, they would board the _Double Eagle_, the ship that would bring them to Neverwinter. Elder Mayne had offered to pay for their passage, which Brianna thought was the least he could do.

It had been Elanee, of course, who had brought the elder news of the treaty they had negotiated for the town. Brianna had completely run out of patience for diplomacy, Neeshka didn't actually give a damn, and Khelgar had spent the return trip sulking about not even having been given the opportunity to bash any lizardling skulls.

When Elanee had returned and reported that Mayne had refused to meet with the lizardlings to finalize the agreement, and instead demanded that they go back to the lair and kill the beasts, the remains of Brianna's patience had snapped like a frayed catgut string.

By no means did she consider herself strong, but Mayne was not a large man, and her fury had done the rest. She needed to get onto a damn ship and leave this town. She had done more, far more than should have been expected of her to ensure that the ship would be able to leave unharmed, and this ridiculous little man who had spent his time sitting there enjoying the sun while she had been out at the ruins putting her life in danger had no business putting any more roadblocks before her.

She had ran more than walked up to him, grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him into the air, then proceeded to fling him onto the ground with enough force to splatter the dirt. She'd been on top of him with her dagger at his throat before she'd even thought about what she was doing.

"You want slaughter, you can _hire_ someone who's willing to risk their life," she'd hissed at him. He had only stared at her with wide eyes.

Then, her companions had caught up to her and she was summarily pulled off the elder.

"That was stupid," Neeshka had commented after she'd wrestled the knife from Brianna's grasp.

"I know," she'd replied.

Brianna still didn't know what exactly Elanee and Khelgar had said to the elder afterward, but in the end, the man had gone to meet the delegation of lizardlings, with the druidess accompanying him, and that had been the end of it.

She turned her head to regard Neeshka, whose fingers were gracefully twirling several pebbles between them while she stared straight up into the dark sky, shivering slightly on occasion. The tiefling had been the only one not to give her disapproving looks after her impromptu attack on the elder. That made her by far the most pleasant company to have around at the moment. Brianna had to admit to herself that she was glad the other girl had come to look for her. As used as she was to being by herself, it hadn't been the healthiest thing for her thoughts tonight.

Her hand groped in the dark and found another small rock. This one was smooth, its edges likely worn down by the sea over time. She considered trying for another splash in the water, but she doubted it would gain her any more satisfaction than the first throw.

"It's getting cold," she found herself saying, and got to her feet. "We should head back."

_Tomorrow I'll be leaving this whole mess behind._

The thought felt good, and she actually smiled to herself for a moment before tossing the stone in her hand lightly over the cliff's edge. She did not stay to listen for the impact.


	12. False Hope

_Author's Note: Yeah, I'm pretty terrible at writing Sand. I wish I could do better, 'cause, well... it's Sand. _

_EpitomyofShyness - Some very nice guesses you made there. :) Some are spot-on, a few are a little off the mark, and others I'm not even sure about, because Bree doesn't always form the opinions I'd like her to form. Characters annoyingly insisting on thinking for themselves, and all that.  
_

_Clio Trismegista - Thanks so much for your review! I'm glad you like the story so far, and I hope this chapter is up to your expectations. _

* * *

**False Hope**

The pervasive stench of the docks made Brianna's eyes water when it first entered her nose. The wind carried with it a mixture of rotten fish and sailors' sweat, and Brianna was barely able to prevent herself from looking foolish and covering her mouth and nose with her hands.

Neeshka, who had witnessed her discomfort from the moment they had departed the Double Eagle and stepped onto the docks, grinned at her.

"Don't worry," the tiefling said in what Brianna assumed was supposed to be a sympathetic tone. "You'll get used to it soon enough."

"I hope," Brianna choked. "By the gods, that smell is disgusting."

"No worse than the swamp, if ye ask me," Khelgar shrugged. "Besides, anything's better than that filthy excuse for a boat."

Sea travel had not agreed with either of them. Khelgar had been visibly unhappy throughout the voyage, and Brianna had had a hard time keeping everyone else from noticing how much her stomach was revolting. She could not deny being relieved about having sturdy ground beneath her feet once again.

The only one who seemed even more uncomfortable here than she had been on the _Double Eagle_ was Elanee. The elven woman's lips were pressed together in a thin line, her hands clenched tightly around the straps of her pack. It wasn't difficult to see the tenseness in her posture.

"Unnatural," the druidess finally said just loud enough for Brianna to catch the word. "This place is… unnatural. Silent. It's…"

"Not that I know what you are on about, but it's natural enough to me," Neeshka cut in confrontationally. The tiefling crossed her arms before her chest and gave Elanee a challenging look. "That's my home you're talking about, you know."

Elanee turned away without a reply.

Brianna, meanwhile, had decided to ignore the bickering and was looking around curiously.

There was no denying that Neverwinter was quite different from what she was accustomed to. She'd never been in a place like it before, but as unfamiliar and intimidating as the rows of tall, grey buildings seemed to her, she could not deny a certain excitement from creeping up inside her.

She finally realized that she had escaped West Harbor for good.

Of course she had been gone for many days now, but she had encountered nothing but open road and other small villages up until now, both of which were not different enough from what she was accustomed to to make her feel like she was truly elsewhere. But Neverwinter was more like what she'd had in mind when she had dreamed of leaving the accursed village behind. In a town like Highcliff she would always be known, but the bustling streets of Neverwinter could grant her anonymity, a luxury which she had never had before. The city was ugly enough at first glance, but she was glad to be here.

"What's the plan then, lass?"

She turned to look down at Khelgar. The dwarf had been studying the tall buildings as well, but was now looking at her expectantly.

"Could use a drink to settle me stomach," he added with a grimace.

"Well, the man I'm looking for is supposed to own an inn not far from here." Brianna turned to glance at Neeshka. "Know anything about that?"

The tiefling wrinkled her forehead in thought.

"The Sunken Flagon is the first one I can think of," she said. "Not the most reputable place, but it's close by and I'm sure they've got cheap ale for Khelgar."

Brianna nodded. As vague as the information was that Daeghun had given her, this was as good a place to start her search for Duncan Farlong as any.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Brianna had, up until now, had better things to do than to spend her time wondering what a half-brother to her foster father might be like. It was not until after she'd entered the Sunken Flagon that she realized she had subconsciously imagined the man to be a slightly distorted version of Daeghun, a bit younger perhaps, but just as cold and distant.

She certainly hadn't expected the half-elf clad in an apron who had just put an arm around her and was now guiding her toward an empty table, smiling jovially.

"Sit, lass," Duncan Farlong instructed her. "Your journey's been a hard one, from the sound of it. I'll get you something to drink, and then we'll talk."

She sank onto the chair he had pulled out for her and watched him hurriedly fill two mugs behind the bar. Some of the liquid spilled over and dripped to the floor as he lifted them without caution.

_By the gods, how can it be that this man is in any way related to my foster father? They're polar opposites._

She gave a nod of thanks as one of the mugs was set in front of her. Duncan settled himself in the chair across from hers with his own mug and looked at her expectantly.

"Now then, lass. Why is it Daeghun sent you all the way to Neverwinter?"

Without hesitation, she slipped the shard out of its pouch and set it onto the table between them. Duncan made no move to take it, but only nodded in a resigned sort of way, as though this was exactly what he had expected while hoping against all odds that it would not come to pass.

"West Harbor was attacked." Her own voice sounded distant to Brianna as she recounted the events that had led her to Neverwinter. "Daeghun was convinced it was this shard the attackers were looking for."

"And so he sent you away to protect the village, did he?" Duncan leaned forward. There was something in his eyes she could not quite decipher.

"He said you had another shard." Brianna purposely avoided the question he had asked. "And he said that this would be the only way for me to get some answers."

"I'm not so sure about that, lass." Duncan gave her a sorrowful look as he reached into a pocket of his apron. The shard he laid next to Brianna's was somewhat smaller than its counterpart and rather more dull, but when she reached for it and brushed a fingertip over its cool surface, she felt a short, familiar jolt of energy pass between the shard and her own skin. She took a deep breath and pulled her hand away.

"You aren't sure about what?"

"That this'll give you answers," Duncan replied. "We had them scried a long time ago, Daeghun and me, looking for answers ourselves but we didn't find any. A trace of an enchantment on them, but no more."

"What kind of an enchantment?" Brianna asked, taking a sip from her mug. She barely suppressed a cough. Ale was not something she had on a regular basis, and this one was quite strong.

"I don't know, demon's fire or something like…" Duncan broke off when he saw her face. "Look, the shards were found after that battle you've probably heard of. The one that nearly destroyed the whole of West Harbor. There were spells being flung left and right, and these shards or whatever they once were might have been caught in the crossfire. It doesn't mean anything, it's just residue."

Brianna stared at the two pieces of silver, both glinting in the light emanating from the fireplace. She was no expert of magical things, but the sensation she felt whenever she touched the shards seemed a bit too strong to be mere magical residue from some random spell cast years ago. There had to be something more to it.

"Tell me about that battle," she asked.

Duncan shifted in his seat.

"Why'd you want to know? Has Daeghun not told you all about it?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I can count the number of times Daeghun and I have spoken in the past few years on one hand. I'm sure you are aware he is not the warmest of people."

Duncan groaned in response and raised his hand to scratch behind his slightly pointed ear.

"He's still keeping that inside, then? Still, it's not my place to tell, really." He shifted uncomfortably. Brianna narrowed her eyes at him.

"Duncan, my life has been in constant danger ever since I left West Harbor. Daeghun _put_ it in danger. I've been hunted and attacked and above all lied to, and I think that makes me the person who most deserves to know everything you can tell me about these damn shards."

"You're right, of course you're right." Duncan was still shifting in his chair, but his eyes were on her. "Trouble is, there isn't any real connection to the shards. Your mother died during that battle, and so did Daeghun's wife, Shayla. They're a painful reminder of that day. I think that's why he locked one away in that ruin and gave me the other."

"So these shards were found after the battle, then?" Brianna took another cautious sip of her ale and frowned at Duncan. "Why even keep them, then?"

"I don't really know." Duncan shrugged and touched the smaller shard briefly with his hand. "We couldn't find out anything about them, though we tried, but they always just seemed… a bit too important for us not to keep an eye on them. Just a feeling, you know."

"Can you feel their magic, when you touch them?"

Duncan looked alarmed as he briefly glanced at the shards and then back up at her.

"Feel their magic? What in the hells do you mean by that, lass?"

She reached out for the shards again and ran a finger along the smooth surface, letting herself be tickled by the magical energy.

"It's like a current passing through my skin whenever it is in contact with the metal. Feels a bit like the air did sometimes after Tarmas, that wizard back in West Harbor, cast a spell, but much stronger."

She glanced up at Duncan, who did not look like he was enjoying her revelation. The man stayed silent, however.

"Daeghun said he thought the shard marked me somehow when I touched it, but I don't understand how. Or why."

"I don't either, lass." Duncan sighed. He was rubbing behind his ear again. The movement seemed to be a nervous habit of his. "This is a bit out of my depth, to be honest. And I'm sorry I'm not of much use. You were probably hoping for more information than this after that long journey, eh?"

"You could say that," Brianna mumbled, not even trying to hide her frustration. None of this helped her in the slightest. There had to be a way to find out more, some starting point she could go from.

"Who did the scrying you were talking about?" she finally asked. "How competent were they?"

Duncan snorted into his mug.

"That was Sand, and he's a fool. It's quite possible he botched that divination, I suppose."

"And who is he?"

"Owns a shop here in the docks, peddling charms and potions and the like. You can go talk to him, if you like, it's not far. Just don't let him get to you."

"I might do that." Brianna's fingers were tapping on the side of the mug as she thought. "It's the only thing I _can_ do, really. I'll take your shard along as well." She didn't leave him the option of declining. "If I can convince him to do another divination, he might get better readings from having two of them."

She was sure she sounded exactly as hopeful as she felt, which was not very. Part of her was wondering whether Daeghun had known how pointless her journey would be when he had first sent her on it. After everything that had happened, she hadn't an once of trust left to put into her foster father.

"Of course, lass." Duncan drained his mug and then tilted his head, giving her a once-over. "But why don't you rest a bit before you do that? You're looking a bit… hmmph."

"Disgusting?" Brianna supplied with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, I'm aware. Traveling by ship wasn't the most pleasant thing."

"Why don't you take a bath first, then," Duncan offered. "I'll get you a room ready."

"That'd be wonderful."

Brianna turned to look at her companions. They had scattered around the inn, waiting for Brianna to finish her conversation. Khelgar was having a chat with the bartender while draining mug after mug of ale, Neeshka had taken a seat by the fireplace and seemed to be warming her tail, and Elanee was waiting by the door, looking ready to bolt at any second. The druidess still looked the epitome of discomfort.

"They'll all need rooms too, then?" Duncan had noticed her looking.

"I'm not really sure, actually," Brianna admitted. Now that they had reached Neverwinter, she had always assumed that the three of them would have other things to do than continue keeping her company. But yet, here they all were in the inn with her and none of them had yet talked about leaving.

"Free of charge, of course," Duncan had misread her reluctance. "You're family, after all."

Brianna gave him a nod of acceptance. She stood as he did and scooped the two shards into her pouch. Her mug was not even a quarter empty, but she couldn't afford to be intoxicated when she talked to that man Sand later, so she left it on the table as she followed Duncan out of the main room. She was _really_ looking forward to that bath.

* * *

Brianna emerged from her new quarters some time later, feeling blessedly clean for the first time in many days. The room Duncan had prepared for her was small, with simple furnishings and an old wardrobe she didn't dare open for fear that it would fall apart on her. But it was clean enough and the bed seemed to be comfortable, and her bath had been hot. Her new quarters could not be considered luxurious, but neither were they anything less than what she was used to from living under Daeghun's roof, so she was content enough when she made her way back to the main room later. She had put on clean breeches and her spare tunic, and her hair was hanging down her back in a wet, tangled mess.

Even before she entered, she could hear the two distinct voices engaged in a heated argument.

"…_magical_, she says, and she isn't a wizard so if even _she_ can feel it…"

"…_not_ that simple, not that you would know…"

"…obviously, your divination wasn't any good then, you charlatan…"

"…_not_ a matter of divination, you one-tankard drunk!"

Brianna rubbed a hand across her face as she approached. She wasn't really in the mood for bickering. Duncan was standing behind the bar, drying mugs with enough force for Brianna to be surprised that they didn't shatter, and waving his towel towards the slender, elegant looking figure in wizard's robes he was trading insults with. When Brianna got closer, Duncan slammed his towel onto the counter.

"There she is, then, and you can explain to _her_ exactly why your scrying is worse than useless, Sand."

Sand, Brianna realized as the man turned to face her, was a moon elf. The man had pale, nearly translucent skin paired with dark hair that fell down his back in perfect, silky strands and made Brianna, with her hair in such tangles, feel like something that had just been fished out of the sewers in comparison.

_Damned elves and their natural elegance._

The elven wizard was giving her a scrutinizing look from the top of her head down to the tips of her boots before inhaling deeply through his nose. For a moment, she thought this an expression of surprise before Sand proved otherwise

"Why, you have the smell of a harborman about you," he remarked conversationally. "Quite faint, to be sure…" He sniffed again, frowning in concentration. "But there."

_Well, that was... strange._

"I just had a bath," she remarked dryly.

"Ah, yes, that would explain the overshadowing scent of cheap lye soap."

"Brianna, this is Sand." Duncan sounded oddly resigned. "Spewing insults is what brings him joy. Don't take it personally."

"I was insulting your establishment, actually, not your guest," Sand remarked mildly. "Had too much ale this early in the day already, have you? But while we are speaking of rudeness, _do_ allow me to point out that you have not yet introduced her to me."

_Oh, this'll be interesting._

"Brianna Storm," she introduced herself and pulled out one of the stools to sit on.

"She's kin," Duncan added, and Sand's polite glance her way turned into an incredulous stare for just a flash of a moment.

"Very _distantly_ related, I am sure," the moon elf drawled once he had caught himself. "But Duncan here implied that you have an interest in a certain shard I once examined for him. Did he happen to mention that he tried to pawn it to me several years ago?"

Duncan threw Sand a murderous glare while Brianna wordlessly fished the shards out of her pouch and laid them on the counter. Sand regarded them with minor interest.

"Duncan said you scried them," Brianna said, trying not to sound too hopeful. "I want you to try again. I can feel power from them that I don't think is just spell residue."

Apparently ignoring her last remark, Sand hiked up his sleeves and stretched out both his hands for the shards. He took one in each, weighing them carefully.

"Very well," he said with a sigh. "It is not a complicated matter, after all, so let me oblige you and see what my considerable magical talents can discern." He laid the shards carefully back onto the counter and his brow creased in a light frown.

As he began to recite, Brianna felt her skin prickle. The spell was unlike any she had ever witnessed Amie or even Tarmas cast, much longer and more complicated. Brianna rubbed her hands together trying to ease the discomfort. The magical itch worsened the longer Sand was muttering, until it became _painful_, and she realized that there seemed to be a thick sort of static electricity in the air that was emanating from the shards. And just as she wondered whether she was the only one who had noticed this odd phenomenon, Sand stopped muttering and raised his hands.

She felt like she'd been kicked in the chest as energy was suddenly racing through her entire body. Briefly, she wondered whether this was what it felt like to be hit by lightning, and then she felt herself slipping off her stool and sailing through the air.

All she could think about was how much she was _not_ looking forward to the impact.


	13. Catalyst

**Catalyst**

"What are you standing around for? Heal her already."

Brianna winced as her head gave a painful throb at Neeshka's loud words. The challenge in the tiefling's voice was tangible, but it went unanswered.

"I can't," Elanee replied simply. "She is not injured."

"Not injured my tail! She went flying through half the room."

While waiting for her vision to return, Brianna briefly wondered why, out of everyone in their group, it always seemed to be her who ended up unconscious. Laying on the ground not being able to move a muscle was pretty much the definition of weakness. She felt awful.

_Most likely because Khelgar's got the constitution of a dragon, Neeshka appears to have supernatural catlike reflexes, and Elanee has the good sense to stay away from trouble in the first place._

Brianna didn't have any of these things, and the sudden realization made her feel rather irritated.

Her vision was still fuzzy, but she could now make out shapes and that, coupled with the thoughts coursing through her mind, was enough motivation for her to try and sit up. Approximately three pairs of hands pushed her back down determinedly.

"Easy lass." That was Duncan. "Take it slow, else you might black out again."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"No you're not. Here, drink that." The rim of a mug was pressed against her lips. Brianna took a careful sip and was relieved to taste water instead of the ale she had half-expected. After several more sips, the mug was lowered again. Brianna blinked a few times and realized that her vision was mostly restored now. She almost wished it wasn't.

They were all standing, sitting or kneeling around her, Neeshka and Elanee at her side, Khelgar and Duncan in front of her, and Sand pacing in the background looking enormously uncomfortable. She could read enough pity in all of their expressions to make her stomach turn.

_By the gods, did they all have to witness that spectacularly pathetic display?_

Brianna did what she usually did when she found herself in a situation like this – she went on the offensive.

"So how exactly did Sand accomplish that explosion?" she asked, making sure to give her voice a bit of an edge. As expected, they all turned towards the elven wizard, who glared.

"The shards appear to have some… resentment to being scried," he admitted with a slight frown on his face.

"That didn't happen last time," Duncan said.

"_Obviously_ not." Sand resumed his pacing.

"So you really did botch the first divination. You'd better do this one for free Sand, because I'm not paying you a single copper!"

"My divinations were _not _botched, you drunken fool!"

Now that nobody was looking at her, Brianna managed to get to her feet with a clumsy effort. She walked right past the two bickering men back to the bar, wobbling precariously, and was glad to see both shards still lying on the counter unchanged. She stretched out a hand for one of them and was both glad and disappointed to find out that they still _felt_ the same, too.

"The power in them is much stronger than last time." Sand had appeared by her side. He sounded intrigued. "I suppose it is possible they simply hid their true potential from me during the first scrying, but I don't believe so."

"Then what other explanation is there?" Duncan, who had appeared next to Sand, asked impatiently. Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee were now crowding around the bar as well. Apparently the explosion and Brianna's subsequent sailing through the room had piqued their interest. Brianna, meanwhile, was chewing her lip, thinking.

"Maybe that power was… unlocked, somehow, since they were last examined," she finally suggested. "Or they might be affected by some sort of catalyst."

"Duncan," Sand announced severely, "the more I listen to your kin here, the more evident it is where the sense in your family went." He gave Brianna a nod. "I think you have a very good point."

"Thanks," she said. "But that still doesn't explain anything."

Sand looked at her sharply.

"But it does," he insisted, and suddenly Brianna found it difficult to breathe.

_I haven't put two and two together because I have been wanting for it not to equal four. _

_Considering I'm the only one who can feel the magic of the shards, and considering that fairly severe reaction to the scrying a few minutes ago, I suppose it's pretty clear just who the catalyst is. _

"But it can't be," she said before she could stop herself. Then she winced at her own words.

_Denial isn't going to help me out of this one._

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and tried again.

"I don't understand how that's possible." She focused on Sand. "I'm not overly familiar with arcane magic, so you tell me. What possible explanation could there be for the shards reacting to my presence?" She crossed her fingers and hoped Sand would come up with some simple, harmless explanation they could all share a good laugh about.

"I have no idea," the elven wizard admitted. The way he said it, looking like he had just bitten into a lemon and his voice sounding pressed, told Brianna that Sand was not a person who liked admitting that he was clueless. It meant he _really_ didn't know.

_Fuck._

She stared at the shards, wishing more than ever that she hadn't taken up Daeghun on that fatal errand. Or at the very least, that she'd let Bevil pick up the damn shard first.

_Bevil would be dead already if he'd been forced into my position. _

_Better him than me. _

"Bad news, lass, eh?" Khelgar asked sympathetically. The dwarf was squinting at the shards, likely trying to figure out what trouble these scraps of metal could possibly be. Brianna only nodded.

Elanee, however, was quite a bit more forthcoming.

"The bladelings… they will continue to hunt you down," she said with worry in her voice. "Being behind walls will not keep you safe forever. They will find you eventually."

That got Duncan's attention.

"You've been hunted by _bladelings_?"

_Damn Elanee and her inability to mind her own damn business._

While Brianna tried her best to murder Elanee with a look, Khelgar made a sound of comprehension deep in his throat.

"So these are what those creatures were after? Should have learned by now that some shards aren't worth meetin' my axe over."

_Hells, might as well try complete honesty for a change, now that everyone knows more than I want them to already._

"The bladelings were the ones who attacked West Harbor, along with a group of duergar." She reached for the larger of the shards, the one she had been carrying, and held it in her palm. "Daeghun was certain they were looking for this shard. He told me to recover it from its hiding place and then sent me on my way. It seems he was right, because as Elanee said, they've been hunting me ever since."

"Well then just give them the shards, or throw them in a dustbin or something," Neeshka suggested. "What's the problem? They're just shards, they don't seem all that valuable. What are you keeping them for, anyway?"

"It's not that simple," Sand said condescendingly, just as Brianna opened her mouth to say the exact same thing. "She obviously has a connection to the shards for some unfathomable reason."

"And that means they are likely to come after me even if I did give up the shards," Brianna finished his thought. She bit her lip harder than she'd intended, and flinched before she continued. "I was hoping it would be easier to figure out what in all the realms these shards _are_. But I don't even know where to start."

_Going back to West Harbor and murdering Daeghun in his sleep for forcing me into this mess seems like a wonderful plan._

"Well until ye do, any bladeling tryin' ter take it from ye will meet the business end of my axe," Khelgar assured her. The simple statement didn't fail to put a slight smile on Brianna's face, despite the bleak outlook.

"Well, I can tell you that this is no simple arcane matter." Sand had propped his chin delicately onto his closed hand. "These shards are… different, and it will take more than even my _considerable_ arcane talents to unravel this mystery. I propose that finding out about their history may provide you with a key to unlock their secrets." His voice betrayed how intrigued he was.

"Well somehow, I don't think the bladelings will be very forthcoming with that information," Neeshka said skeptically. Sand shook his head and dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand.

"No, you need a sage," he announced.

"And you happen to have one readily available?" Brianna focused on the elven wizard once more. She knew her tone betrayed hos tense she was, despite the light-hearted question.

"The only one I know of who might be able to help with this sort of thing is Aldanon, but…"

Sand and Duncan exchanged a look that made Brianna think she was not going to like this.

"_What?_" she asked, when neither of them attempted to elaborate.

"There's been a murder." It was Duncan who was speaking now. "Lord Dalren – not that you'd have heard of him, but he was important enough in Neverwinter circles. The watch closed down the Blacklake district while they are investigating, nobody's allowed to go in or to come out."

"And of course that's where Aldanon lives, isn't it?"

The look of sympathy in Duncan's eyes told her she was right.

"Damn it all to the nine hells, then."

Brianna flung the shard back onto the counter in a sudden fit of temper and buried her face in her hands. This was beyond frustrating. The one person who might be able to give her the information she needed was locked away out of reach, and all she could do was sit in an inn in the docks district until the bladelings came and kicked down the door. There _had_ to be something she could do.

"So unless you are a member of the watch or know some secret route into Blacklake, I am afraid you are stuck in the Flagon – my sympathies, by the way." Sand's voice sounded everything but sympathetic. "As a favor to you, I could give the shards a more thorough examination while you wait, but of course I would have to take them back to the shop with me."

Brianna looked up to find Sand's hand hovering a hair's breadth above the shards. The elf withdrew it hastily when he saw the expression on her face.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I was offering to examine the shards in the confines of my…"

"No, before that. How to get into Blacklake."

"I said that you would either have to be a member of the watch or know some secret route, neither of which I assume applies to you, so…"

"But it's a starting point," she insisted.

"What, ye mean join the watch?" Khelgar asked. "It can't be that simple, can it?"

"Well, they _are_ recruiting, still down in numbers from the war." That was Duncan. "And I happen to know one of their lieutenants is a harborman. Maybe he'd put in a good word for you."

Brianna grimaced. She couldn't really see anyone she had lived in West Harbor with vouching for her character.

"How are you with that sword then?" Duncan was sizing her up, apparently already planning on how to advertise her to the Watch.

"Not so good," she admitted freely. There was no use denying it, there were three other people who'd witnessed her use it.

"Eh, I've seen worse," Khelgar said unconvincingly.

"You're all thinking along the wrong lines," Neeshka interjected. "Trust me, the Watch isn't where you want to be, and you should take my advice and not put your faith in them. I know there are people right here in the docks who have probably a dozen secret routes into Blacklake – I've been away for too long to be able to make introductions, but it wouldn't be too difficult to find out who to talk to." Her tail was swishing from side to side energetically, betraying her aggravation.

"However, you should be aware that dealing with the… criminal elements will likely entail paying a high price in bodies," Sand warned. "You will have to be prepared to do their dirty work."

"Not that the Watch is any different." Neeshka crossed her arms before her chest and gave Sand a challenging look.

"I didn't say they were, now did I, dear girl?" Sand asked testily. His elegant hands were busy brushing nonexistent dust from his robes as he turned towards Brianna. "Despite this utterly stimulating dicsussion, duty, that is, my shop, calls, so if you don't mind I will take my leave now." He gave her a curt nod.

"Thanks for your help," Brianna said politely. It had occurred to her that it might pay off to stay on Sand's good side, no matter what Duncan thought of the elven wizard. Her uncle was right in that the mage's demeanor was somewhat grating, but he was the only one who had come up with any useful advice regarding the shards and could doubtlessly be useful.

"You aren't seriously considering the Watch, are you?"

Neeshka had sidled into the spot Sand had occupied only seconds before, opposite Brianna. She was frowning.

"How about ye shut yer trap, tiefling, and give the lass time to think about it," Khelgar hollered.

Brianna was torn. This wasn't a decision she could take lightly. It was true that she did not have any taste for upholding the law, but neither had she ever dabbled in organized crime. As overrun as the docks were with criminals, she could see either choice land her a dagger in the back.

A dagger in the back and bladelings breathing down her neck. She nearly laughed out loud when she realized that the only course of action her situation lent itself to was to keep running blindly into the unknown and to hope that nobody would catch up to her.


	14. Manifestation

**Manifestation**

"How do I look?"

Brianna nervously adjusted her sleeves while she waited for a reply. She wasn't asking out of vanity, but for much more important reasons, and the silence in the taproom seemed to confirm her worst fears.

"So?"

"Ye look like a watchwoman," Khelgar finally stated the obvious. Indeed, as worn and shabby as the cloak was, the symbol of the Watch was clearly visible, emblazoned like a bullseye on her back. The thought of it didn't do much to cheer her up.

"I hope you're aware that half the docks would just _love_ to put a knife in your back with you wearing that." Neeshka's voice was tinged with distaste.

"Ye'd better not be gettin' any ideas, tiefling."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm as utterly law-abiding as they come in the docks." With that caustic remark, Neeshka stood and turned towards the door, her tail whipping lightning fast after her.

Brianna watched her leave with regret. She'd known even before talking to Marshall Cormick at the City Watch that Neeshka would not approve of her decision. The tiefling was likely right about half the docks now wanting her harm – the picture the marshall had painted about the extent to which the Watch had lost control over the docks had not been pretty – but Brianna wasn't sure whether things would be all that much better if she had followed Neeshka's advice. More than enough thieves and cutthroats followed no moral code, and she had not nearly enough experience dealing with their kind to avoid pissing off the wrong people.

"She'll come around." That was Duncan. She hoped he was right, but she did not have the luxury to dwell on having upset Neeshka. She was nervous enough about her immediate future, her guts in a tight knot when she just thought of going on patrol wearing that damned cloak.

"You haven't said anything yet," she remarked, turning to face him.

"Well, it is a bit of a strange sight, you in a Watch cloak," he admitted. "But it suits you well enough."

She did pick up on the hint of hesitation in his voice. "Do you think I'm making a mistake?"

He shifted and scratched vigorously behind his ear, making it clear to Brianna just how uncomfortable he really was.

"No, lass, not as such. Not like you were given much of a choice, except for which of the two evils you'll sell yourself to."

_It's not like I've been given much of a choice on _anything_ since I touched this damn shard, but still, good observation, Duncan. _

"I do wish you'd work on improving your skill with that sword of yours," her uncle confessed. "I know you can handle your crossbow just fine, but still, any watchman weak in melee won't last long around here."

She was surprised to find herself actually smiling. It was nice to have someone genuinely concerned about her well-being for a change.

"I'll keep it in mind," she promised.

"Lass." That was Khelgar, who had gotten himself another tankard of ale. "Until ye do manage that, remember ye've got my axe."

The dwarf was puffing out his chest as he nodded vigorously, and the knot in Brianna's guts loosened a bit. It was good to know Khelgar would be by her side. The dwarf had declined to join the watch as well, but while there _technically_ was a rule stating Brianna could not have civilian company during the tasks she would be performing for the watch, it was the docks they were in, and nobody was likely to complain to her superiors about her having extra help. There were far more important concerns for everyone to deal with.

Neeshka, hopefully, would stop pouting after a time and see the reasons behind her choice. Since the tiefling had more than enough experience avoiding the Watch, Brianna had no doubt that Neeshka could provide valuable information to help her in the work she would have to do. All she needed was for the tiefling to be willing to share it.

And Elanee…

Brianna turned towards the druidess, who was currently sitting by the fireplace, grooming her badger companion. Elanee had kept strangely silent ever since Brianna had announced her most recent decision.

As though the woman had felt the eyes on her, she turned and got to her feet, giving Brianna a smile as she released the badger, who promptly scurried away underneath a table.

Brianna did not return the smile. Throughout their journey, she had not forgotten that Elanee was following her for reasons she refused to divulge, and she wasn't about to let the elven woman think that she had.

A crash coming from outside turned her attention away from the druidess. It was followed by an angry shout, and Duncan wasted no time getting to his feet.

"What in the hells is going on out there?" he asked, as though he expected Brianna to be fully informed about what went on in all of the docks. When she did not reply, he made for the front door. Brianna looked after him passively.

"Brawl, most likely," Khelgar shrugged and took another sip of his ale. Not all of the inn's patrons were so indifferent to the increasingly aggressive shouts outside, however, and several made their way outside as well.

"I believe the presence of a member of the Watch might likely help to dissipate this disturbance," Elanee hinted, not very subtly. Brianna felt a sudden anger beginning to boil up inside her at the words. It was bad enough that all sorts of things were being forced onto her lately, she did not need an elf with burrs stuck to her skirt telling her what to do on top of it all.

"It might," she agreed. "Then again, I don't really give a damn."

She turned, ignoring Elanee's dumbstruck expression, and was about to sit down next to Khelgar at the bar when Duncan stuck his head back inside.

"Brianna," he said, and there was a fair amount of what sounded like desperation in his voice. "Please."

"What?" she said, more aggressively than she'd intended. Her uncle looked taken aback, but on the verge of slight panic.

"It's… the situation outside is escalating and these girls are about to start flinging spells, and I'm a bit worried and Sand is too worthless to be around and help, so I thought…"

"You thought I'd step in and wave around my cloak."

Brianna sighed. She'd only been with the Watch for five minutes, and already everyone seemed to have decided that it was oh so very handy to have her around. She should have guessed that this was what it would come down to.

* * *

"I'm sick and tired of you high-nosed witches talking about me behind my back all the time, just because you are seething with jealousy! You've got it coming!"

The red-headed girl's eyes were burning with rage. Her hands were _literally_ burning, and Brianna saw Duncan flinch when she waved one of them towards her opponents, scattering flames and singing one of the wooden steps that led into the inn. The two girls opposite her weren't so easily intimidated, however.

"Yes, do burn down this entire street with your lack of restraint, Qara," one of them suggested coolly. The dead grip she kept on her quarterstaff betrayed the emotions the girl was trying not to show, however."Nothing like a demonstration of the control you don't possess to prove us right."

"You won't get a chance to gloat when you're nothing but two little piles of ash!"

Brianna groaned inwardly and considered her options. She could try to arrest the girls, of course, but she had her doubts that they would all come willingly to the Watch headquarters with her. She also wasn't sure whether mere words would dissuade them from attacking each other. What she _really_ wanted to do was for three of them to move this altercation to a place where stray fireballs wouldn't pose any danger to the inn, and leave them to destruct each other.

The girls were screeching at each other again, and Brianna still wasn't sure how to handle this, when a not-so-gentle hand on her back pushed her forward and directly in the line of fire.

She had no time to turn and see who'd done her this particularly foul favor, because the two girls in academy robes now had their hands raised as well, both clenching a fistful of lightning.

"Friend of yours, Qara?" one girl sneered. "Sent to bail you out?"

The red-headed girl seemed too offended to speak for a moment, and Brianna used her chance.

"Hands down," she commanded, in a voice that did not nearly come out as strong as she'd hoped. "All of you."

"I don't need anyone to help me!"

"Right, what were we thinking. Like _you_ would have any friends."

The fact that they were ignoring her so casually did a lot to piss her off. She was well aware that she looked nowhere near as threatening as, say, tall and well-muscled Marshall Cormick, for example, which meant that she needed to find ways to make up for it. Preferably right now.

She targeted the blond girl in academy robes, the one whose left hand was still clutching her quarterstaff much too tightly.

"Put. It. Down."

Her voice was low and threatening now, she had laid one hand quite visibly onto the heft of her still-sheathed sword and was standing very, very still as she put emphasis on every single word. Her eyes, as steely as she could make them, were on the blond girl.

_If she decides to make use of that spell she's holding, I'm toast._

_I might just not want to think about that right now.  
_

"Like… like you could stop me!" the girl challenged, but her voice lacked the aggressive edge it had had just a second ago. She'd actually noticed Brianna, and her eyes wandered from the watch cloak to the sword in its sheath, and then her eyes widened nearly imperceptibly. Brianna noticed, though.

"Try me."

She stood perfectly still, but took care not to show how tense she was. She knew she wasn't fast enough to reach either of the girls in time if they should decide to fling that lightning at her, but _they_ didn't know that. Brianna just hoped it would be enough.

It was. Slowly, the blond girl lowered her hand. The electricity dissipated. Brianna heard the assembled crowd behind her let out a collective breath of relief.

"Hetha, I… I don't want to get in trouble with the watch," the girl plead, turning to her friend. "We'd be cast out of the academy if we are arrested."

"Very well." Hetha's voice was icy, but she, too, had lost the edge of challenge. "You're lucky this time, Qara, but the Watch won't always be able to protect you."

Brianna stepped back more calmly than she felt as they stomped off. This had gone surprisingly well, all things considered.

"Hope you're happy," she said flatly in Duncan's direction before turning to re-enter the inn. Her uncle held her back with a hand on her shoulder.

"_What?_"

This time, she meant every bit of aggressiveness she put into the word, but Duncan did not seem to notice it.

"What about her?" he asked.

She turned to look back at the redheaded girl, Qara. The young sorceress was still standing in the street, her eyes narrowed at them, arms folded before her chest.

Brianna shrugged.

"Not my business," she announced, and brushed off Duncan's hand with more force than might have been strictly necessary, before leaving her uncle to deal with whatever there was still left to be dealt with.

* * *

Duncan's resolution to the mage incident turned out somewhat differently than Brianna had expected. He seemed to have taken the altercation quite personally, and he was more upset about the singed spots on the wood than she would have guessed. When she returned from the Watch headquarters in the evening with Khelgar in tow, the red-headed sorceress was stomping across the common room equipped with a cleaning cloth, slamming down full mugs of ale before irritated patrons.

"You _employed_ her?"

"She's working off the damage she caused," her uncle corrected. "Burning half the place, a tarnished reputation…"

"What reputation?"

"..lost business, putting us all in danger…"

"Look, you do realize that she's probably already spilled ale over half the people she's been serving, right?"

"Well, at least she's learning." Duncan stayed disgustingly optimistic. "And I was thinking, if you've need of her magic at some point, she might come in handy to you as well."

"If the Watch ever assigns me to village torching duty, I'll consider it."

Neeshka still hadn't returned. Brianna wasn't too worried, since the tiefling had ducked out before to 'take care of some business', as she vaguely described it, but it still left her feeling tense. She did hope Neeshka hadn't left for good just because she was now wearing this stupid Watch cloak.

Her day had been exhausting, so she excused herself early and went to her room, where she wasted no time crawling into her bed. Marshall Cormick had spent much of the day on her training, sending her on several smaller errands, explaining procedures and rules and testing her conditioning, but also giving her much useful advice. The fellow harborman genuinely seemed to want her to be well prepared, and she wasn't about to turn him down.

It had been a rare stroke of luck that Cormick was quite a bit older than her and had left West Harbor long enough not to remember much about little Brianna Storm. Mentioning their common origin had therefore gotten her a warm welcome from the marshall's side, and he seemed more than willing to train her. She'd tried hard to stay on his good side – if she was ever to get into the Blacklake district before her hair turned grey, she would need all the favors she could wheedle out of him.

She only hoped that her luck would hold, and that the marshall hadn't planned any visits back to the Mere in the near future.

* * *

_A cool finger brushed her shoulder, light as the wind. So deceptively gentle was the gesture that Brianna smiled a little and didn't think much of it. A second finger joined the first in stroking gently down her arm, and she let it happen, enjoying the soft sensation. A sigh escaped her parted lips. _

_It was odd though. She could have sworn she was alone, yet her skin was telling her otherwise. It didn't feel like there was a body lying next to hers, but someone's breath was tickling her neck. She half-turned, eyes still closed._

_The smell of sweat and rotten teeth hung in the air. _

_Her head was pressed down into the pillow just as she opened her mouth to scream. Fingers were digging into her neck, holding her in a death grip, no longer cool but so icy cold that they were hurting her skin. She desperately wanted to fight him, wanted to show him that she was no longer that weak little girl, but her entire body was frozen with fear._

"_Hello again, Storm" he breathed right by her ear. _

_No. No, you're dead. Dead! Dead and gone, damn you!_

"_But Storm, you know that won't stop me."_

_He rolled her onto her back effortlessly and sat astride her. She opened her eyes and found them useless, seeing nothing but absolute darkness. The icy hand wrapped around her throat, not yet squeezing, but she knew it was coming. _

_This is only a dream, a nightmare, please go away, please…_

_His body was reeking of decay, and as he shifted atop her, she caught the sickeningly sour scent of old blood. _

"_What you did wasn't very nice, Storm. But I know just how you can pay me back."_

_The hand around her throat started squeezing, and she tried to scream and failed. She couldn't even struggle, couldn't do anything but lay there and wait until even the darkness spun out of focus. _

* * *

She stumbled out of bed and down the corridor, her head still spinning. Her stomach seemed to keep flipping over, urged on by the heart that was hammering so hard in her chest it hurt.

_Air. I need some fresh air and I'll be okay._

She wasn't sure what time it was, but it was pitch black outside and the Flagon was quiet. She made her way past the long row of doors and opened the door to the common room with shaking hands.

The fire was low, but still burning, casting shadows on the walls that Brianna pointedly tried to ignore as she crossed the room, trying to keep her mind from imagining Wyl in every single one of them. She thought she was alone, and when one of the shadows really did move, her entire body jerked with fright.

It was barely a comfort to her when he stepped out of the shadows and she realized that it was not, in fact, a zombie bearing Wyl Mossfeld's face. She'd seen the man before, here in the Flagon, but she didn't know his name. What she did know was that he was looking at her with an expression on his face that reminded her very much of the one Wyl Mossfeld had often worn, that self-assured smirk and that predatory gleam in the eyes, promising pain and misery.

She bolted for the door.

It was possible that fresh air might actually have helped calm her stomach, but Brianna had forgotten that the air by the docks was anything but fresh. She got all of five steps far before she sank to her knees and was violently sick on the pavement.

_Stop, stop, just stop, please…_

She kept retching, even when a voice she wasn't too keen on hearing said her name and a cool, slender hand touched her shoulder and brushed her damp hair back.

Brianna felt pathetic. She decided that things couldn't possibly get any worse than Wyl Mossfeld haunting her in her dreams, throwing up in the middle of the street and having Elanee, of all people hold her hair and likely waiting to deliver some lecture on the evils of drinking ale.

"Brianna?" the druidess asked, reluctance obvious in her voice. "You have been sick a lot, and it worries me."

Brianna's body convulsed again, painfully.

_Gods, couldn't she have picked a different time to corner me and tell me things I don't care about?_

"In Highcliff, and then on the ship, and now…" Elanee's voice was shaking, as though the druidess was afraid. "Brianna, are you… with child?"

The woman's last two words reverberated through her mind. Brianna's body went numb and her vision faded as she realized that she had rarely been so very wrong.

Things had just gotten worse.

Much, much worse.


	15. Cold Blood

**Cold Blood**

The blade was coming at her again, on a direct path to her unprotected side. Brianna brought her sword up just in time to meet it. Her tired muscles protested violently as steel clashed with steel, and the impact reverberated through her. She grit her teeth and tried to focus on keeping her weapon raised, but that was easier said than done when her arms were going progressively more numb.

She sensed another attack coming and knew she was in trouble. Her arms were beginning to shake under the weight of her sword, exhaustion finally getting the better of her. At the last moment, Cormick let his blade drop and hers hit the floor just a fraction of a second later. She barely kept herself from sitting down right next to it.

_No weakness. No sad little displays of worthlessness. Get a grip, Brianna. _

She stooped to pick up her sword, barely managing to close her hands around it. Her upper body was absolutely useless after parrying blows for the entire damn hour they'd spent in the small enclosure that passed for a practice court.

"Enough for today, then," Cormick nodded. "I wouldn't want you to be tired for your patrol."

She briefly wondered whether he was joking. In her current condition, the most she could do if someone meant her harm was to yawn threateningly. Shaking her head, she followed him to the practice weapon rack.

"Who taught you how to fight?" Cormick asked suddenly. "Was it Georg?"

She nodded, not wanting to waste the last reserves of her energy on talking.

"Should have guessed, that fool." The slight note of affection in Cormick's voice negated the insult. "You fight just like it, as though you had about twenty pounds more muscle than you do, and were about twice as broad."

"Meaning?" Brianna prompted him.

"Meaning you keep using moves that pit your strength against mine, and you'll pardon me for being blunt, Storm, but you haven't got any strength to speak of. The ony time one of these might work for you is if you're dueling a kobold child or something."

He laughed loudly at his own joke, and she made a face. It didn't take a genius to figure out he had hit the problem right on the head, but it was all she had learned about fighting. Brawn was valued in a town with moderately dangerous surroundings, and all children had learned the same basic moves from Georg and the rest of the militia. Certainly the techniques worked perfectly for tall, broad-shouldered men, and just as certainly they weren't perfect for her, but she had no idea how else she was supposed to fight. That's why she was here, after all, and why she had spent the past three days being so obedient she might as well have been a lapdog, and why she had been biting her cheek until she tasted blood to keep from blurting out something that might put her on Cormick's bad side.

"What should I do, then?" she asked.

"Well, bulking up may do you some good, Storm, but it won't be enough. You'll never match the muscle of most you'll fight against. Quickness is often enough underrated though, and you're more agile than most. Right now you're not using that. I may not be the best person to do so, but I can teach you a few things in that direction." Cormick reached for a piece of cloth and handed it to her. She mopped her face and thought it was rather unfair that _he_ hadn't broken a sweat at all.

"And you've got a nice feeling for the sword," he acknowledged. "Not a fighting prodigy, mind you, but you handle it well enough."

She gave him a wary look. "You're not going to try and get me to use one of these, are you?" She nodded at the longsword strapped to his hip.

He shook his head. "I won't. A bigger weapon wouldn't suit you, the short sword is about the largest you should handle."

"Good." She'd tried to use one once, and the results had been ridiculous. She had no desire to try again and was glad he'd allow her to stick to the smaller weapon. She would have been even more comfortable with a dagger, but, as Cormick had replied rather sharply when she'd suggested it, daggers were for those who wanted to hide that they were armed, and not proper weapons for members of the Watch.

"Oh, and Storm." Cormick ran his hand through his hair in thought as he regarded her. "You switched hands halfway through."

"My right arm got tired."

"And then you put _both_ hands on the blade."

"My left arm got tired, too."

He shook his head, half bemused, half exasperated.

"New rule for you, Storm – no more using both hands. Even if you're tired. You need to get used to supporting the weight of your sword with only the one damn hand you're using it in, no matter what."

"Yes sir," she said through gritted teeth.

"As for using your left hand, you've got some potential there."

"I'm not anywhere near as good with it as my right," she pointed out.

"No, but you're not terrible, and that's something. When you do drills, do them with your left, too. It's a good advantage to have."

"Yes, _sir_."

* * *

The sun was climbing slowly in the east when she met Khelgar near the station. The dwarf had apparently just had breakfast at the Flagon, he still had crumbs in his beard and Brianna's stomach promptly clenched, reminding her that it was painfully empty. At least she wasn't feeling sick again.

_Don't think of it. Don't. _

"Duncan sends that." Khelgar thrust a bundle at her that smelled entirely heavenly. "And before ye ask, the fiendling hasn't come back since ye've left this mornin'."

It wasn't the news she'd been hoping for, but for once, Brianna ignored thoughts of Neeshka's continued absence in favor of sustenance and took a healthy bite of the bread.

"Thanks," she squeezed out, and chewed.

Khelgar only grunted in response and sat down on a set of nearby steps. She followed his lead, unwrapping the entire bundle to find a wedge of hard cheese and an apple underneath the bread, and sent a short prayer of thanks to the heavens that Duncan, as opposed to Daeghun, seemed to know what constituted an acceptable breakfast.

"Well then, lass, what are the orders for the day?"

She waited until she'd managed to swallow all of the food in her mouth, and wrapped up the rest of the bundle.

"My _orders_" – she said the word with as much disdain as it deserved – "are the same as yesterday, patrol duty down by the docks, near the guardpost. Cormick said to keep an eye on one of the shops down there too, he's been getting complaints from its owner."

Khelgar gave a short grunt, and she wasn't quite sure whether it indicated displeasure or just plain comprehension.

"Aye, then let's get to it."

* * *

It was the third day Khelgar had accompanied Brianna on patrols, and they were fast getting into the routine of it. Much of her task consisted simply of being visible, in hopes of dissuading anyone who might be tempted to steal, mug or murder in broad daylight. The men stationed at the southernmost guardpost knew her by sight now, and they did not bother with anything but a nod when she checked in with them before starting on her rounds.

The first two days had been relatively uneventful, and this one was shaping up to be much the same. Brianna suspected that Khelgar and his axe might have something to do with that. The dwarf looked as battle-hardened as in fact he was, and while she alone might have presented a tempting target even with publicly displayed weapons, Khelgar was sure to making anyone wanting to harm her reconsider. Twice there had been incidents that had forced her to draw her weapons, but as she'd been close enough to the guardpost to alert the men there with a shout both times, she had not needed to use them.

The men at the post didn't particularly seem to care for her, but that suited her just fine. Cormick's opinion was the only one that mattered, and she'd forced herself to obey every damn order that came out of the marshal's mouth, because keeping Cormick on her side was absolutely essential.

The marshal was of high enough rank to be able to put in a good word for her where it mattered – with the captain that could grant her access to the Blacklake district. He had taken a liking to her as soon as she'd dropped the name of their home village, babbling on about kinship and fellow harbormen having each other's backs, and Brianna had done all she could to encourage his patronage. His offer to spar with her in the mornings had come as an additional benefit, one that Brianna had not been reluctant to accept, especially after Duncan's warning about what happened to watchmen who did not know how to handle their weapons. She'd been blunt with Cormick about needing to be granted access to Blacklake, had even hinted that her presence in Neverwinter was connected to West Harbor, and he had been quick to promise her that as long as she proved halfway competent, he would be able to help her overcome this latest roadblock.

So she had bitten back anything she might have ordinarily said to the people who were now commanding her around, Marshal Cormick and that annoying Lieutenant Roe above all, and been a good little subordinate. It was an exhausting role, and she hoped she could keep it up.

"Lass."

She reacted to Khelgar's warning tone by putting one hand straight on the hilt of her sword. The dwarf was nodding in the direction of the shop they'd been keeping an eye on, just like they'd been instructed. Several men were in the process of entering it. From what Brianna could make out, they looked to be an altogether unpleasant lot, and not exactly like typical customers.

"Crap," she muttered.

She didn't have much of a choice but to follow them inside. The guardpost was too far from here to ask for backup, which she likely wouldn't have gotten anyway without substantial proof that there was danger. Her mind was working furiously as she approached the shop, Khelgar by her side.

Three of them, no visible weapons, which means either fists or daggers, guessing daggers. No armor to speak of. Probably bullies, asking for protection money. Not that well trained and too sure of themselves, but most likely working for someone. Won't hesitate to put a blade in my back if they think they can get away with it.

The bell above the door rang merrily as she pushed it open.

"We're closed," a voice said aggressively.

_I'm going to take a wild guess and assume that's not the owner._

"I'm sure you can make an exception." She kept her voice light and without threat as she stepped over the threshold. It wouldn't do to alarm them before she'd had a chance to get close enough.

The elderly man who owned the shop was up against the wall, crowded by one of the thugs. The two others were rifling through the displays. Nobody had drawn a weapon yet, but she could tell that at least two of them did have daggers on their person. The third had brought a club. Brianna's mind registered all this in the time it took for the man closest to her to notice her, along with the easily recognizable cloak she was wearing.

"Ah hells," he said with only minor annoyance. "How many of you guys we gotta buy off?" He began rifling through his pockets, presumably for coins.

Brianna stepped a bit closer, careful not to make him feel crowded. Khelgar was still behind her, staying back for now as she'd asked him to. The entryway was long and narrow, which was why they hadn't seen him yet. Hagen, the shop's owner, was meanwhile struggling against the man, a young, straw blond fellow, who had him pinned against the wall.

"I demand…" he began, then was cut off by a hand across his mouth.

"But, Tenner, d' we have to pay her?" That was the third one, who was standing further back and hadn't said anything before now. "Look at 'er, not like she could fight all of us, and the watch wouldn't miss her, y'know, if we…"

Brianna's stomach lurched. She briefly considered if Cormick would mind her resolving the situation with three dead bodies without even trying the diplomatic route, then decided that she didn't give a damn what Cormick thought because there was no way in the hells she would leave that thug alive after he'd made _that_ threat.

There was a yelp. Hagen had bitten the hand of the man who'd stopped him from speaking, and was now shouting.

"I pay tax money for your protection, you know! Not for you to become some paid-off turncoat…"

The hand was put back over his mouth, and this time, another hand kept his jaw tightly shut. The straw blond thug was clearly learning.

The man in front of her had stopped counting coins painfully slowly and was now regarding her through squinted eyes, scrutinizing her body in a way that made her feel nauseous. She knew that calculating look too well.

"Yeah, he's right," he finally acknowledged his colleague. "You're not much of a fighter, and…"

Before he could finish, or even had time to do anything but flinch, she'd drawn her sword, taken a single step forward and put a great bloody gash into his belly.

By this point she hadn't got any hope left of resolving this through talking, and anyway, it wasn't like she was about to wait for _them_ to attack _her_.

One interesting fact about killing someone by a sword to the belly was that they took their time dying. When Khelgar put his axe into an attacker's forehead, they usually crumbled to the floor like a sack of potatoes, but with belly wounds… well, it took the body a while to fully realize that it had just been sliced open. It was why it was so dangerous to assume an opponent who had been slain in this manner was out of the fight for good. After fighting so many bladelings, Brianna knew this, but she did not usually stick around to watch one opponent die when there were others trying to take her life.

The other two men were drawing their weapons, and Khelgar took that as his cue to charge past her, swinging his axe in a murderous arc. Brianna should have moved, should have assisted the dwarf in bringing down the remaining thugs or at least taken cover, but she felt as though frozen in place, her eyes glued to the dying man before her.

"You… rotten…dockside whore," he managed to insult her. The coins he had held fell to the floor with muffled clinking sounds as he brought his hand to his belly. In was going to be a messy death, Brianna realized. He was holding his own midsection now as though his bare hands could stop the blood from spilling out between them. Then he raised his eyes to meet hers.

He had blue eyes, rather expressive ones. She could see the realization dawning on him, the knowledge that this was a fatal wound, and then, finally, he crashed to his knees. His life was leaving him in spurts, like the blood dripping from his wound and staining the floor, and his desperate gasps for air could not bring it back.

"Shouldn't have threatened me," she said softly, and stepped over him to assist Khelgar, who didn't actually need the help. The blond man who had been crowding the shopkeeper was already lying facedown on the floor with his spine cleaved in two, and there was only one thug left standing, who was pressing himself against the wall, shaking. He had already dropped his dagger and was staring at the dwarf with an expression of naked fear.

"Have mercy… please." The man's gaze went from Khelgar, who clearly wasn't impressed, to Brianna. "I have a wife, and a little daughter." His voice was high-pitched as he appealed to her. "I needed the money… it was just this one job, I swear, I never…"

Brianna regarded her bloodied sword. Obviously, the man thought that he had a better chance to get off lightly if he appealed to her as opposed to the mean-looking dwarf. She was a bit sick of being underestimated like that. "Just one job?" she prompted the man, her eyes flicking back to him for just a moment.

"Yes, just this one job, my wife is pregnant again, you see, and, and…"

She knelt and used a patch of fabric from the shirt of the man she'd killed to remove the worst of the blood from her blade. She would give it a thorough cleaning later, when she had the time for it.

"…times have been terrible for us, there's barely food to eat, and with all this crime going on, I thought…"

Brianna was listening with one ear as she sheathed her sword. The man was lying through his teeth, of course, which was no surprise at all. She might have done the same if she had found herself in his situation, only she would have been a hundred times better at it.

"What did you think?" she asked, stepping closer. Khelgar was leaning on his axe, regarding her passively. He seemed confident that the thug was no longer a threat.

"I thought…well, it was only the one job, really…" The man's dark eyes were pleading. "I could tell you who I'm working for," he tried to bargain. "Please, I'll work with the watch, give up names…"

"No deal." Brianna shook her head at the man. She was right in front of him now, one hand on her hip, the other reaching for the dagger in her hidden sheath, a weapon she still carried, against Cormick's direct orders.

The man was too focused on her face, he hadn't noticed the movement.

"But you can't put me in prison, please, I didn't even attack you! I have a family to support, I…"

His breath left him in form of a gasp as she drove the dagger up and into his flesh. The sensation of piercing his skin and slicing through his innards with the blade felt sickeningly satisfying. She waited for him to try and breathe in again, but he never did.

"Not prison, no," she agreed, and as she withdrew the dagger and stepped back, he crumpled to the floor.

She did not spare him another look as she stooped to pick up the blood-smeared gold coins from the floor and pocketed them. Both Hagen and Khelgar were wise enough not to attempt to talk to her, which she was glad for. She could barely stop her hands from shaking when she cleaned her dagger and sheathed it, but for once, she did not consider it a weakness. It was simply a result of her emotions running high, of having killed like that, having held someone's life in her hands.

As she turned to leave, she realized that she felt better than she had in a very long time.


	16. Well Enough Alone

**Well Enough Alone**

_Focus. Breathe. _

_Keep calm. _

_Don't think about it. _

She'd been staring straight into the dull, silvery depths of the basin for longer than she cared to admit.

A painful spasm went through her body as she felt her stomach contract, and she gripped the edge of the basin hard, fixing her eyes on one tarnished spot as she willed herself to remain calm, kept telling herself that it would pass, that she would feel better soon.

_Don't you dare think about it. _

_Just breathe. _

Almost every morning for the past week she'd been feeling sick just after waking, and fighting the nausea was a slow, uncomfortable process that she definitely could have done without. It might have been easier just to give in, to allow her body to spasm and spew bile until it calmed, but she wasn't about to give in so easily. So she was kneeling on the floor, pitifully huddled over the extra basin she'd asked Duncan for without specifying what its purpose would be, putting her body through this horrible ordeal.

Eventually, finally, she calmed.

She felt the tenseness leaving her, bit by bit, as though her body wasn't quite certain yet that it could actually let its guard down. She forced her hands to loosen their death grip on the edge of the basin and sat back. Cold sweat had plastered her hair to her forehead and neck, and she didn't bother brushing it back.

_Gods, this is exhausting. _

She knew, from experience by now, that she needed sustenance before her stomach decided that it was time for a second round. So, despite an overwhelming desire to remain slumped on the floor and enjoy the simple fact that her innards weren't revolting any more, she pulled herself to her feet.

She didn't even consider wearing anything but loose breeches and her cotton undershirt. She'd bother with her armor once she was sure her stomach wasn't going to send her into another bout of painful spasms. Her arms were shaking as she pulled the rough fabric over her head, making her realize that she couldn't have handled the buckles just now anyway.

The weather had been nice enough when she'd gone to bed the previous night, but some time during the night the storm had started, and she had woken to the sound of raindrops drumming against the closed shutters of her window. The wind had died down a little while she'd kneeled on the floor trying not to be sick, but the drumming sound followed her all across the building as she made her way through the deserted hallway.

She halted before entering the taproom to make sure it really was empty. Elanee had been trying to corner her for several days now, trying to have a heart to heart, and while Brianna knew she would have to face the druidess eventually, early morning was not her time of choice to have that kind of conversation.

Just as she had taken the first step into the room, the front door was thrown open. Brianna was close enough to feel tiny droplets of moisture, a taste of the weather outside, hitting her skin as she turned. She reeled back without meaning to when she saw who had just entered the Flagon.

She hadn't encountered him since that night when she'd all but fled upon seeing him, the night she had realized what Wyl's final, cruel parting gift to her had been. He really didn't look anything like Wyl, except for that expression in his eyes she'd seen a few times now, that predator's look, but it was enough to terrify her to the bones. Rationally, she knew that he wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't touch her, not _here_, but that didn't stop her instincts from screaming in her head that she needed to get away, run, flee to somewhere she'd be safe from bruising fingers and foul breath on her skin.

She stood frozen as she waged war against the silent terror in her head. Her breath was coming in short bursts. Her eyes were fixed on him and stayed that way, watching without really wanting to as he shook himself like a wet dog and sent drops of rainwater flying in all directions. Then he was suddenly walking straight towards her.

_Don't show him you're scared, don't let him affect you, breathe, stay calm, stay still. _

"What are you looking at?"

His voice was aggressive, challenging, but even if she could have set aside her panic long enough to reply, she would not have had a chance to do so. He pushed past her, sending her stumbling against the door frame, and vanished down the corridor she had just emerged from.

She stood slumped against the solid wood for a good minute, trying to calm her breathing and get her brain back in working order.

_He doesn't matter. None of this matters. Just ignore it all, focus… _

_Bread. Something to calm my stomach. Now. _

She crossed the taproom and stumbled into the kitchen. Duncan had never specifically allowed her to help herself to his foodstuffs, but if he really did consider her kin, she didn't see how he could mind.

As soon as she'd located the loaf of bread, she was slicing away at it, removing the bitter crust and gorging herself on the soft, spongy core. It had taken trial and error to figure out that this was the only thing she could keep down in the mornings, neutral enough in taste, and with a texture and consistency that… calmed her, somehow. It was just the right thing to combat the recurring nausea.

Once she'd had enough, she leaned against the table and closed her eyes, just breathing and listening to the rain.

She was not quite sure how early it was. Usually, she would dress and go to meet with Marshal Cormick for her training, letting him drive her beyond exhaustion to help her forget the cause of it. The marshal was on a special assignment, however, which allowed Brianna the luxury of sleeping in – or at least, it would have allowed her the luxury if not for the recurring morning sickness.

The sound of the front door opening once more startled her out of her thoughts, and despite her better judgment she poked her head into the taproom to see who had entered the inn. The sight of Elanee, drenched with rain and blood and looking utterly miserable, was not what she'd expected.

"What in the hells happened to you?"

The druidess was pale and silent as she crossed the room. Her hands were shaking.

Brianna followed her into the kitchen and watched as Elanee silently filled a washbasin with water and then began to scrub her hands with a cake of soap. She still hadn't said a word. Now that Brianna looked more closely, she realized that the woman's eyes were red-rimmed, as though she'd cried.

"It'll come off more easily if you use hot water."

Even Brianna had to admit that these certainly weren't the most tactful of words in this situation, but at least they were helpful. When Elanee still did not reply, she took her eyes off the druidess and looked around for the tinderbox. Starting a fire seemed like a good idea, especially if people soaked with rain kept bursting into the taproom.

Finally, Elanee dropped the soap into the water and took a step back. She still wasn't clean, there were streaks of blood smeared on the underside of her arms and around her elbows, but Brianna figured that it would have been even less tactful to point that out. Elanee didn't even seem to realize that her clothing was soiled as well.

"What happened?" she asked again after she'd finally managed to light the fire and put a kettle on it.

"I…" Elanee brought a hand to her face and covered her mouth and nose, as though she was about to be sick. She was still shaking. "I met… another druid. From …"

Her eyes darted around the room and finally focused on a chair. She walked over to it and sank onto it.

"He was…looking for… he was shapeshifted, and he had been hurt badly by the Watch, and he, he…"

"He died?" Brianna offered when Elanee seemed unable to force out the words. The druidess nodded, looking pitiful.

"I was not… fast enough to help him. I cast my spells, but he had already faded away, and so I held him…" She put her hands up to her temples. "He was trying to tell me something… something about the other druids. About the druids of Neverwinter Wood, and my own circle. Something is very wrong."

She seemed increasingly more steady the more she spoke, which Brianna was glad for. Seeing Elanee in such tatters was a bit disconcerting. Even so, she had no idea what the woman was babbling on about.

"We need to… I need your help," Elanee stated blankly. "I need to contact the other druids, and…"

Brianna raised her eyebrows. "My help?"

"There is no other way."

Pitiful or not, Brianna was going to lose her patience with the woman if she kept talking in riddles. She watched as Elanee rose from the chair, now much more composed, and began to clean up the water she'd splashed.

"Do you care to explain what in the nine hells you're talking about?" Brianna finally asked, gritting her teeth but trying to keep her tone polite.

And Elanee took a deep breath and began to explain. Half of it made no sense to Brianna, but at least now that the druidess had ceased her stammering, she was able to figure out the gist of the tale.

"So you want me to find a… mirror?"

"The Skymirror. It is a scrying device, and I know where it can be found. I need to access it so I can contact the druids of Neverwinter Wood."

"Elanee, I haven't got _time_ for any such nonsense."

"You would do well not to discount this matter." It was very nearly fascinating how fast the patronizing tone had slipped back into Elanee's voice.

"And why's that?" Brianna saw no reason to keep her annoyance from showing, now that Elanee was back to being bossy.

"Because something is happening in the Mere, and it may not be a matter that only affects my fellow druids. Whatever it is, it drove the druid I met to near-madness! He was not even able to shapeshift back into human form."

"Well, I'm sorry," Brianna said, though she was fairly sure Elanee realized that she didn't mean it. "I just…"

"Please think about it."

"I will," she lied.

The water in the kettle had come to a boil. Thankful for a distraction, Brianna rummaged around for the bag of tea leaves she knew Duncan kept in one of the cupboards. Tea sounded good right now.

The silence hung heavily between them. Brianna did not have any desire to justify her refusal. She couldn't just turn her back on Neverwinter and all the progress she'd made with the Watch, all to go off hunting for some bizarre scrying mirror. Cormick's opinion of her was still high, and she was fairly sure she had him almost ready to call in some favors that might do the trick and grant her access to Blacklake. Playing on his fondness for West Harbor had been the right strategy. She _could not_ throw it all away just to please the druidess.

_Besides, I don't owe her anything. I never asked her to travel with me, she was the one who insisted on joining up with the group. That's all on her. She can't just go asking favors of me like that. Hells, I don't even like her._

"Tea?" she asked. After registering Elanee's nod out of the corner of her eye, she reached for a second cup.

_She's been useful in some regards, I suppose, but that doesn't mean I have to drop everything I'm doing just to help her with some nonsense she won't even explain clearly._

She handed one of the cups to Elanee and closed her hands around the other to keep warm. There was no sound except for the steady rhythm of the rain.

_I can't believe she even has the audacity to ask, after not even telling me why she's been following me in the first place ever since I left West Harbor. I don't think…_

"There are herbs that can help with the sickness in the morning," Elanee remarked quietly. "If you wish, I can fetch some for you."

Brianna felt herself stiffen, but she successfully suppressed any other reaction she might ordinarily have shown at the words.

"That would be kind," she forced out.

_Don't think about it._

There was more silence.

Brianna raised the mug to her face and breathed in the aroma. She couldn't quite make out its components, but it smelled good, and that was all she cared about. She'd never been good with herbs anyway.

"Brianna," Elanee said, and she looked up to meet the woman's eyes. It appeared Elanee had spent the minutes of silence mulling over whatever she was about to say.

"I know that you do not like me much."

_I didn't realize you were so perceptive_ was on the tip of Brianna's tongue. She swallowed the words. It would have been a little too harsh just now, even if it was true.

"And I know it is not my place to speak to you as a mother might, but I fear that if I do not, no one will."

Brianna took a careful sip of her tea.

_Too watery yet. Too hot, too, damn it all._

"I never knew my mother," she pointed out, running her tongue across the slightly scalded middle of her lower lip.

"And I have never been a mother, which makes us a fine pair indeed." The druidess seemed to find something slightly humorous in that statement that Brianna just didn't see.

Brianna frowned, tired of dancing around the inevitable.

"What is it you want, Elanee?"

Her hands closed tightly around the hot mug. By the time Elanee spoke, they were positively clenched.

"Have you come to terms with the fact that you are going to be a mother?"

Despite feeling like she'd been soundly punched in the gut, Brianna nearly laughed out loud at that.

"Oh, no," she said. "No, I definitely won't be. It's not going to happen."

"Ignoring the fact will not make it vanish," Elanee argued.

Brianna's hands were so tight around the mug that she half-expected it to shatter. It might have if she had any strength to speak of.

"It's been working pretty well for me so far," she mumbled. It was stubborn, and possibly childish too, certainly, but Elanee had no right to confront her like this.

"It is a living being that is inside of you, and you are responsible for its well-being. Surely you can see…"

_Living being. A part of Wyl, alive. Inside me._

Brianna could not keep her hands from shaking. The sudden turmoil of emotions took her by surprise, and she was left finding it very difficult to control her body. She set the mug aside and buried her fingers in her hair, clenching around the strands and pulling. The pain helped her regain her focus a little.

"Don't say that."

Her voice came out pathetically weak, almost pleading.

"I am sorry." Elanee had taken a step towards her, hand hovering in mid-air as though she was not quite certain whether her touch was welcome. "I am very sorry, Brianna. I know the circumstances of conception were… painful, I know this is difficult."

_The circumstances of conception._

"What did you just say?" Brianna asked hoarsely.

Her emotions had suddenly gone from turmoil to very, very numb.

Elanee pulled back her hand and took a step back. She was trying, badly, to keep her face from showing how alarmed she was.

"And what exactly do you know," Brianna asked, stepping forward towards the woman, "about the conception of this child you're so concerned about?" Her voice was cracking. Her insides were still numb. She briefly wondered whether she was supposed to be feeling upset, but then gave up on trying to figure it out.

"I am sorry, I truly am." Elanee flung her hands out in a gesture that could not have been more meaningless. "I was tasked by the Circle of the Mere to watch you, I told you as much."

"You said you were following the shards!"

"You or the shards, it amounts to the same." The woman's voice was pleading. "I was never allowed to interfere!"

"_Interfere?"_

Brianna stared.

_Still numb._

"Interfere?" she repeated.

Then she took the mug she'd sat on the counter, and in one fluid motion flung it against the wall.

Elanee let out a yelp as they were both showered with hot tea and shards of pottery. Brianna barely noticed. The explosion had finally set free the ball of rolling fury inside her.

"Let me get this straight then, Elanee. You _knew_, all along. You _saw_ when he threw me to the ground, when his hands were all over me, when he.. when he hurt me." Suddenly, her voice was giving out. She refused to let it deter her. Instead, she advanced on the pale druidess, who retreated through the door into the taproom.

"Tell me, did you feel uncomfortable sitting there watching me be violated, all those times? Or was it easy to appease this thing in your mind you call your conscience, simply by reminding yourself that you weren't _allowed to interfere_? Did you feel sorry for yourself? Was it _inconvenient_ for you to have to witness all that misery?"

Her hipbone hit the corner of the bar as she advanced, which should have been painful, but she didn't feel anything.

_Still numb._

She grasped another mug and flung it across the taproom. It, too, shattered on the wall, far above Elanee's head.

The druidess was talking again, flinging out her arms and saying something Brianna did not care to listen to.

"_Shut up!_"

Her voice was high, near hysterics, and she screamed her lungs out to give the words emphasis.

"You thrice-damned hypocritical _bitch_ didn't even make your presence known until I already had plenty of help! What a moral dilemma that must have been, deciding to finally _interfere_! I'm _so_ terribly sorry you had to go through the agony of it all!"

Her vision was blurry. She wasn't quite sure why.

Elanee had edged towards the door.

"Yes, leave, crawl out that damned door. Go find that fucking mirror of yours and do me the favor of dying in the process! Don't bother coming back here, because if you do I just might do some interfering of my own, and it's going to include your sanctimonious guts being painted all over the walls!"

She flung a third mug, which hit the floor and spun away, clattering.

Elanee fled out the front door.

Brianna sank to the floor and began sobbing in earnest.

There were steps, and then a deeper voice spoke.

"I heard… I… lass, are you alright?"

A hand touched her shoulder. She wanted to brush it off, but she didn't seem to be able to move. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, despite her trying to will them to stop. She couldn't remember ever feeling so gods-damned awful as she did right at this moment, and Duncan witnessing it all and asking questions was not what she needed right now.

But the questions never came.

Instead, she found herself enveloped by a pair of arms and held tightly against someone smelling moderately of cured ham.

It was a novel experience. She couldn't remember ever having cried in front of anyone before, and certainly not anyone ever trying to comfort her. She'd liked to think that she was strong enough not to have to lean on anyone, that comforting was for children.

But at the moment, she felt very much as though she were back to being a child, small and vulnerable and utterly helpless, and she clung to Duncan like she was convinced he could make it all better. And she cried for a very long time.


	17. Doubt

**Doubt**

Brianna could barely even lift her arms to push the door open when she returned to the Flagon that evening. She'd discovered some time during the past few weeks that physical exercise was perfect for tiring out the body and keeping the mind wonderfully blank. Since she hadn't been able to spar with Cormick this morning, she had made up for it later in the day by going through her drills, first with her right, then with her left, over and over until she was no longer able to lift her sword in either hand.

Now, she felt so exhausted that she had a faint hope of perhaps being able to sleep this night.

Khelgar was headed for the bar, and she followed him, more slowly. The room was moderately populated this night, but most of the patrons appeared to be rather subdued, and the noise level seemed much lower than it usually was in the evenings. Sal, the bartender, was taking his time cleaning mugs, nodding at the slurred words of an older man in front of him. Qara was stomping past tables, carrying empty dishes and looking harassed. Half-hidden in the shadows of a far corner sat the same man she'd encountered again this morning, head bent over a mug.

"Quiet night?" she greeted Duncan, who had already filled a mug for Khelgar without the dwarf even having to say anything. Her uncle scowled.

"What?"

"It's nothing, except you were right." He nodded towards one end of the room, and Brianna turned to see Qara collecting empty mugs there. "About her."

"What'd she do now?"

Duncan said something, quietly and between gritted teeth, and Brianna leaned forward to try and catch it.

"She what?"

"_She set. A patron's chair. On fire_."

Khelgar chortled into his mug. Brianna might have done the same if she'd had one, but for Duncan's sake, she managed to keep a mostly straight face.

"I wish I could have seen that."

"There's still a burnt spot on the floor, near the fireplace. I suppose it seems funny, for a little while, but that kind of thing might lose me a lot of business."

"You're going to get rid of her, then?"

Duncan shook his head.

"I'm not quite ready to give up yet. She's shown a bit of improvement in her manners, and the lesson I want her to learn isn't that setting things on fire can get you out of anything."

"I'm not so sure about that," Brianna argued.

Duncan opened his mouth to reply, but a patron's call sent him to hurriedly fill a mug. Brianna used the short break from conversation to look around the semi-darkness of the room some more.

She missed seeing Neeshka curled up on a chair near the fire. The thought hit her quite suddenly, and she swallowed heavily. Elanee had not come back after the altercation this morning, and Brianna did not perceive it as a loss, but she could not help but admit to herself that she did miss the tiefling. Part of her had hoped that Neeshka would stick around.

At least Khelgar remained by her side. Turning her head to regard the dwarf, who had ale dripping from his beard and was hollering for a refill, Brianna found herself feeling utterly grateful for his presence. It was still a new experience for her to have someone who actually had her back. Driving people away had always been an unfortunate talent of hers, but maybe, if she was lucky, Khelgar would stay for a while.

A mug was noisily set in front of her. She turned and met Duncan's eyes.

"You're a bit old for that, maybe, but I thought it might help you sleep," he explained, pushing the mug towards her. She sniffed it suspiciously at first, expecting alcohol, and finally took a careful sip. The taste of hot milk and honey filled her mouth. It was the same drink Daeghun had, on occasion, made for her before sending her to bed when she had been little.

"Good?" Duncan asked, and she nodded and gave him a smile.

"Conclusive proof that you and Daeghun are actually related."

She took several large gulps, letting the liquid warm her from the inside. Duncan's level of concern ever since he had found her crying this morning had been… unexpected, and strangely touching. He had held her and let her cry until she was out of tears, and then he had given her some watered-down ale to drink and drawn her a bath. He hadn't once asked a question about what had happened, or given her any kind of lecture. He had just… been there for her.

Brianna was not used to that.

The milk did help, along with the soreness in her muscles and the crackling fire in the background, in making her feel pleasantly drowsy. It was probably a good idea to get back to her room soon, especially if the taproom wasn't going to be noisy and keep her from sleeping.

"Got a question for you," she announced just loudly enough for Duncan to hear, when he had once again returned to his spot in front of her. "Man in the corner back there, the one who acts like he'd bite your hand off for coming near him. Who is he?"

Despite her purposefully casual tone, it took only a single glance to confirm who she was talking about for Duncan to tense up.

"Has he done anything to you? Bothered you in any way?"

_Apart from a couple of rude words and some very disconcerting looks, not really. Not yet, anyway._

She shook her head.

"Just freaks me out a bit, that's all."

"It's best if you don't have anything to do with him," Duncan said rather quietly.

"I wasn't planning on it." She barely suppressed a shudder when she threw another glance in the man's direction. "Just like to know who I'm dealing with if he crosses my path, that's all. He makes the hairs on my neck stand up."

"For good reason too." Duncan sighed and reached for his own mug. "His name's Bishop. He's a smuggler, mostly up around the Luskan border."

"What's he smuggle?"

Duncan ignored the question.

"Just be sure to stay away from him, and let me know if he gets too bold for your liking," he requested, his tone low. Brianna nodded and dropped the topic.

"You need a bard in here," she remarked instead.

Duncan stared at her over the rim of his mug as though she'd lost her mind.

"A… what?"

"A bard. Someone who tells stories, and sings and such. To liven things up a bit when it's a slow night."

"I know what a bard is, lass. I just never thought you'd be one to suggest I hire one."

"I like stories," she shrugged. "And I just realized how gloomy this place seemed when I walked in the door with Khelgar. If I didn't _live_ here I probably would have turned around and found myself another place to drink."

Khelgar made a noise of dissent. Apparently, he did not mind the gloominess of any place that supplied him with ale.

"I'll think about it, lass." Duncan seemed to find some humor in this exchange; Brianna noticed that he tried to hide a smile by downing his ale.

"You do that," she agreed, and promptly yawned. "I think that lye-scented pillow of mine is calling."

She pushed her tankard towards Duncan, who grasped it and held it out for Qara to take.

"Still pushing yourself pretty hard, eh?" he asked.

"It'll be worth it," she said confidently. "Soon, hopefully. Cormick told me yesterday that he's planning on making a recommendation to Captain Brelaina. If I can convince her, maybe…" She trailed off and sighed. "I'd rather not think about it too much right now. It'll just get me nervous again."

"Restful night," Khelgar wished her.

"I hope," she replied. "But I really kinda doubt it."

* * *

She'd placed the potion on the small table next to her washbasin. A small amount of milky green liquid, barely more than a mouthful, resting inside a stoppered clear glass vial. Sand had said that it would taste faintly bitter, but not vile.

He had also said that it could be dangerous. Maybe that was why she was sitting on her bed, staring at it instead of drinking the damn thing and getting it over with.

Procuring it had been difficult. She had not had a clue what to ask for, or where to ask for it. Neeshka might have been able to tell her, but Neeshka wasn't here anymore. But if the talk with Elanee had done one thing for her, it was to make her realize that she could not ignore her condition forever, that she would have to act before it was too late.

So this afternoon, on her break, she had gone to the only seller of potions she knew of in the docks. She couldn't be sure that Sand would sell her what she needed, and she couldn't count on his discretion either, especially when it came to Duncan. But she hadn't had a choice in the matter.

She had rarely felt more awkward or tongue-tied. First, Sand had put on a smug smile and handed her a potion to help with cramps and womanly troubles. Then, looking a bit more serious, he had handed her a contraceptive. Finally, looking in equal parts horrified and concerned, he had retreated to his storeroom and emerged nearly a minute later, holding the small vial with the green liquid.

"Be careful," he had impressed upon her. "Be very, very careful. "If something should go wrong, you will _need_ to seek out a cleric. Remember to drink plenty of water as well."

"Sand, if you tell Duncan…"

"I am rather fond of my nose in its present pristine condition, so I do not think I will."

Then she'd tried to pay him, counting out most of the coin she still had saved from the journey and the bit she'd made working for the Watch so far. Sand had gently pushed her hand away and told her it wasn't needed.

She still wasn't sure what to think about that.

She was even less sure about this damned potion.

It was not of Sand's making. This much was obvious, there was no arcane magic to it. She didn't know where he would have acquired it, and she hadn't thought to ask.

She'd unstoppered it earlier and smelled something herbal, before gingerly pushing the cork back in. Briefly, she considered druidic origins, but she couldn't really see Elanee mixing this kind of thing for her.

_What the bloody hells does it matter? Just drink it, get it over with._

She reached for the vial with one shaking hand, then withdrew it again.

_Oh, hells. _

_It is a living being that is inside of you_, Elanee's words forced their way to the forefront of her mind.

_Damn you, Elanee, you and your manipulative, guilt-inducing speech. That thing is a part of him, one that I can't bear to even think about._

_It is a part of you as well._

Elanee hadn't said those words, yet they rang as clearly in her mind as though the druidess was standing next to her. Dumbstruck, she looked down.

"Oh, thrice-damned bloody hells," she whispered.

How could it even have happened? She was repulsed by him, utterly repulsed, and yet a part of him had come together with a part of her. A sudden image entered her mind, that of a small child clawing at its eyes, not able to bear even looking at itself in the mirror, because one half of it hated the other.

"No, you're better off dead," she said.

The room was quiet.

_And what if it kills me in the process? Wouldn't put it past Wyl to try and take me down with him. Sand did say drinking this could be risky._

_Gods be damned, this is ridiculous._

She let herself fall back onto the bed and buried her face in her hands.

_Tomorrow,_ she told herself. _I just need some time before I'm ready. I'll drink it tomorrow._


	18. Underlying Causes

**Underlying Causes**

The City Watch was never quiet. There were always boots thudding on the floor, the scratching of quills as watchmen hastily filled out reports, and more often than not the grating voice of Lieutenant Roe, sticking his nose into everyone's business. Even in the very earliest hours of the morning, which was when Brianna usually arrived to spar with Cormick, she could count on some drunk hollering in a cell or the loud complaints of the night shift guards because first shift was running late again.

It was this incessant background noise that helped Brianna adjust her mindset whenever she entered the building to check in before her shift. Every day she needed to remind herself that she could not afford to slip up, that she had to be an obedient bootlicker for just a little while longer, until Cormick finally had Captain Brelaina convinced of her worth. All she was waiting for was for the captain to assign her to a Blacklake patrol, and then she would be able to contact the sage.

_Just a little while longer_ was the mantra she repeated to herself every morning as she ascended the stone steps, ready to hold her tongue no matter what sorts of nonsensical orders she might be given, ready for the glares of the other watchmen who'd started referring to her only as "Cormick's Little Favorite", and most of all ready to meet any blade that might be coming her way with her own.

This day though, Brianna realized as she made her way into the building, something was different. Instead of the usual, fairly subdued noises, her ears were assaulted by hollering and yelling and the ringing of steel on steel. If not for the watchmen on duty standing calmly at attention by the doors, she might have expected some sort of attack on the station.

Inside, chaos reigned. Watchmen were waving weapons left and right, sometimes one in each hand, switching them, testing their swing and not always making sure there was nobody in the way. Brianna took an involuntary step back in response to the chaos and promptly bumped into someone.

"Sorry," she said absent-mindedly, finally tearing her gaze from the scene. "Sir," she added hastily upon seeing Cormick.

The marshal waved away the small lapse and gave her a strained smile that told her he hadn't had a good start to the day. The cause for that seemed apparent.

"If you don't mind me asking…" Brianna started, and he groaned.

"Weapons shipment meant for Moire's gang. We intercepted it last night, down the back alley way, and Captain Brelaina just gave permission for the watch to use them. We're getting first pick here in the docks. Hell of a morale boost, but somehow, word got out early, and Lieutenant Roe didn't get around to telling me until after the night shift men decided to have a look, and then first shift came to check in, and now we got this whole mess going on." He gestured towards the cluster of watchmen.

"Ah," Brianna said, wisely avoiding voicing any criticism. She was fairly certain that Cormick was about to do that himself, and then she only needed to agree with him.

Cormick was rubbing his temples.

"Look at them," he said, sounding resigned. "Grown, well-trained men acting like children quarreling about toys. Granted, they're good weapons, some of them with enchantments, even, but if this is all it takes for all discipline to break down like a house of cards, then, well…" He sighed. "I can't help but realize that this bunch is all I have to fight crime and gangs in the docks. It's a bit disheartening, to be honest."

Brianna couldn't resist that opening.

"You've got me, sir," she suggested, making sure to sound down-to-earth and not boastful. It had the desired effect, and he gave her a broad smile.

"That I do, Storm. You're a good one, no mistake." He clapped one hand on her shoulder and motioned for her to follow him, making his way to the other side of the room by what basically amounted to hugging the wall. Brianna went after him, keeping a weary eye out for stray blades. She didn't allow herself to relax until they were well on their way to the practice court.

"That reminds me," the marshal started after several moments of silence. "Why weren't you here with the rest of the bunch early as daylight?"

The truth was that, obviously, nobody had told her about the weapons. She hadn't exactly made friends with her fellow watchmen during the time she'd served the Watch, but she wasn't about to enlighten the marshal in regards to that.

"It didn't seem appropriate, sir" was the answer she finally settled on, and Cormick looked approving. "Though I could do with a better weapon."

The second sentence slipped out before she could help it, and she bit her lip. She didn't want him to think she was complaining. Cormick, however, was grinning like a fool.

"I know," he said just as they entered the small enclosure, and pointed towards the weapon rack. "That's why I put that one aside for you."

She knew there was magic running through the blade as soon as she touched it. The familiar prickling sensation wandered up her fingers, not enough to itch as spells often did, but just strong enough to be noticeable.

"Oh," she said breathlessly when she held the sword fully in her hand.

It was a short sword much like the one she carried in her sheath, but much better balanced, and beautiful in its simplicity. The blade was sharp and flawlessly polished. The smooth hilt fit her palm perfectly.

"If you want it, it's yours,"the marshal assured her.

_If I want it? This is a better weapon than any I've ever had my hands on. I'd be a complete fool not to want it._

"Hells Cormick," she breathed, "thank you."

The marshal just nodded, apparently pleased.

"Sir," she added, much too late, and he laughed out loud.

"Come on, Storm," he nodded his chin towards the exit. "While everyone's busy squabbling over weapons, why don't I leave Lieutenant Roe in charge of sorting out the mess and you and I go on patrol for a while? I feel like getting some fresh air."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but if it's fresh air you're after, you shouldn't have gotten yourself stationed in the docks," she pointed out, following him nonetheless.

* * *

As much as Brianna hated her watch duty, she had to admit that it could have been a whole lot worse. Half of the credit for that naturally went to Khelgar, axe always at the ready to charge into any trouble that found Brianna while she was on duty. The other half, surprising as it was to Brianna, went to Cormick.

Certainly the marshal liked to bark out orders, and during their sparring sessions he demanded a level of discipline and dedication that she wasn't used to giving, but apart from that, he was refreshingly helpful and easygoing. As they made their way towards the docks proper, Khelgar following them at a distance, he was assuring her yet again that he was making progress with his superiors where she was concerned.

"Of course, Captain Brelaina will have to approve your transfer personally, once we can make it happen," he was pointing out. "Signature and all. And since you didn't join the Watch until after the lockdown happened, naturally she'll be thrice as skeptical about the request, so I don't want to ask outright until I've got her convinced that you're a model Watch member."

Brianna nodded mutely. He was recapping what she already know, a tendency of his she'd come to notice recently. Going over the same facts again and again seemed to be something Cormick enjoyed. Though she found this habit of his slightly annoying, it occurred to her that this might actually be a good quality to have for a higher-ranking member of the City Watch who did his share of desk duty.

"But I've been working on that, have no fear," he assured her. "I sent over the compiled report from the disturbance at Hagen's the other day. Made sure your name was right at the top, too. And I made Lieutenant Roe add your name to the list of those we recommend for promotion. There's nothing up at the moment, so for now it's just a formality, but I figure if we keep getting your name out there, attached to all good things, the captain's bound to see the light sooner or later." He shrugged and grinned.

"I appreciate that, sir," Brianna said dutifully.

"Ah, hells, Storm," he sighed. "When it's just the two of us, there's no need to add 'sir' to every sentence, you know. Harborman to Harborman, it's just Cormick."

"I'll keep that in mind, Harborman Cormick, sir."

It made him chuckle, just as she had intended. His hand slapped her shoulder so hard she nearly stumbled, and he shook his head.

"Storm, after we get this Blacklake business taken care of for you, we really need to go have a drink together."

"That an order?" she joked.

"Only if you refuse the invitation."

A sound distinguished itself only barely from the busy background noises in the docks district. Between the howling of the wind, the splashing of the waves, the shouts of the sailors and the clacking of wheels and boots on the cobblestones, Brianna's ears picked up the faint click of a crossbow trigger being released, and her body reacted before her mind even had time to process. She threw herself to the side, and something soared past the side of her head so close that she _felt_ it on her skin.

She landed on the ground hard and inelegantly. For a moment she was disoriented, hearing a yelp from Cormick as he finally seemed to realize something was happening. Someone, farther away, was shouting something in a language that didn't sound quite right to her ears. A familiar dwarven battlecry drowned out the voice.

_Sword. Out. Now._

Her hand reached inside her cloak, wrapped around the smooth grip that was humming with magic as it touched her palm. A shadow fell over her face and she brought the blade up just in time to deflect the blow aimed at her. She squinted up at her attacker even as she attempted to get up from her disadvantageous position.

She only saw skin the color of iron, a silhouette covered in razor-sharp spikes.

It was a bladeling.

They had finally found her again.

As she lunged to the side and tumbled out of reach, she let loose a string of colorful curses she'd picked up from her fellow watchmen. She was dizzy for a moment, so she put her free hand on the cobblestones to steady herself, trying to give herself some time to get reoriented.

_Bladelings, you idiot. Get up already and put that shiny new sword to use._

She stumbled to her feet. The buildings in the background swayed for a moment, then she blinked and everything was clear again. Sword firmly in hand, she looked around for Cormick and Khelgar, who were engaging the bladeling she'd just escaped along with several others.

The crossbow release lever clicked again. She registered the movement this time, saw the bladeling cowered against the side of a nearby building. His shoddy aim was the only reason she managed to evade this bolt as well, and then her reflexes finally kicked in and she charged the bastard.

It was satisfying to see the slight alarm on the bladeling's face as he dropped the crossbow and scrambled for his melee weapon. Brianna used her momentum for a powerful first strike, and while the the creature deflected it, she knew he had to be feeling the impact.

She withdrew and adjusted her stance then to the more flexible one Cormick had been making her practice, all the while watching her opponent closely. She saw so much more now than she had been able to just a few weeks ago - that the bladeling held his sword more tightly than a seasoned fighter would have done, that his melee stance was unpracticed and that his arm wasn't angled quite right.

There was no way she would have lasted in one-on-one combat against an experienced melee fighter, but as luck would have it, this bladeling wasn't one. She remembered Cormick adjusting her grip and the angle at which she held her sword during their very first sparring session, and explaining to her exactly how an opponent might take advantage of her mistakes.

She tested his defenses first with one tentative underhand attack, and when he parried she led her weapon into a series of fast offensive strikes, designed not to hurt but to unsettle him. He met each one, but, even though his spike-covered face was rather alien to her, she could read the increasing nervousness in his eyes.

Mindful of a possible counter, she feinted, and the bladeling fell for the simple trick. Her sword slipped into the gap and directly into the muscles of the upper arm, before she had to withdraw in order to block a possible attack.

She needn't have bothered. A grunt of pain escaped the bladeling, and as she saw his weapon tumble down, even before it clattered to the floor, she lunged forward again and put her blade straight through him.

She'd aimed for the heart, but the damn creature was tall and she missed the mark a bit. Her sword pierced his gut and went out his back like she was slicing through butter. She couldn't help but feel amazed at the sharpness of her new weapon. Granted she'd only led it through tissue and soft internal organs, not bone, but she knew from experience by now how tough the metallic bladeling skin could be.

"One hell of a weapon, isn't it?" she asked the bladeling conversationally.

The creature's wide, purple eyes turned downward, as though he'd understood her question and was evaluating the sword's work for himself. Brianna put her other hand on the hilt as well and took some subtle pleasure in twisting the blade and ripping it sideways as hard as she could, gutting him as he watched.

When he fell to his knees, she turned away and left him to die, her sword dripping with his dark, oily blood.

Cormick and Khelgar had held their own pretty damn well while she had been occupied. Three more bodies were littering the cobblestones, and the fifth and last attacker had just been forced to his knees by one powerful blow of a dwarven axe. Cormick was finishing off the creature as Brianna watched, his longsword descending in a graceful arc and slashing through throat and collarbone.

"Are ye alright, lass?" Khelgar asked as she stepped closer.

"Just fine," she assured him, giving the dwarf a thorough look, though Khelgar, as always, seemed unhurt. There was, however, a bright red rose blooming on the cloth covering Cormick's arm, spreading slowly as she watched.

"Bolt?" she asked, stepping closer to survey the damage. "Or blade?"

"Blade," he spat out, obviously annoyed with the injury. "Rotten bastard caught me by surprise as I was fighting the green one."

"Green one?" she repeated, her feeling of elation suddenly dwindling. Cormick kicked one of the corpses in reply.

It irritated her that she hadn't spotted it before he'd pointed it out. One of the corpses looked different from the others, a different body type, different skin, and covered with actual clothes instead of spikes. She hadn't even seen that one approach, too preoccupied with her crossbow-wielding friend. When she turned the body over with her foot, dread settled I her stomach.

This wasn't right. She'd been aware and afraid this entire time that the bladelings who'd bee hunting her would find her here – it had only been a matter of time. But now that she stared at this new, different hunter, something stirred in her mind, a footnote in one of the few books Daeghun owned. _Inhabitants Of The Planes_ it had been, something her foster father hadn't wanted her to read but she'd filched the book from his room anyway. She recalled the passage quite clearly, describing the greenish skin and gaunt features she now saw before her.

_This is not the time to panic. I can't be certain. I'll have to check… Sand might know. I shouldn't jump to conclusions._

But the feeling of dread was growing steadily worse in the pit of her stomach.

"What the hell were those things?" Cormick was asking. The marshal had pressed a piece of cloth to his shoulder and was surveying the bodies. "Those with the spikes?"

"They're called bladelings," Brianna replied curtly. "I'd love to talk more about them, Cormick, but we need to get your arm taken care of."

"What in the hells were they doing here?" The marshal wasn't budging.

"I don't know," Brianna lied. "We should get the men at the nearest guardpost to take care of the bodies."

He sighed and gave a nod.

"To the station, then."

"To the station," she affirmed, trying her damndest to keep her emotions in check as they turned to go.

Just footsoldiers. Slaves. That's all the bladelings had been, just fodder to set on her trail. Though she kept telling herself that there was no way she could know for sure without checking with someone for confirmation, the blunt truth was already permeating her mind.

_The githyanki. I'm being hunted by the fucking githyanki. _

_Fuck you, Daeghun._


	19. Introspection

**Introspection**

The words were swimming, lazily drifting into each other. The wet ink glistened in the torchlight.

Brianna blinked, and order was restored. Again.

"Cormick," she complained, "I don't know what else to write. There _isn't _anything else for me to write."

"Speculate, then," the marshal suggested. "Reword it. I don't know. It wasn't my idea to have a mandatory minimum report length." He was sitting across from her, on the other side of the desk, boots propped onto a chair, looking just about as tired as she felt. His own report was balanced on his knees.

"I don't usually have much of a problem with words." Brianna was still staring at the parchment. "I just… I don't know. They attacked us. We killed them. That's all there is to it."

Cormick sighed and scratched his chin.

"That's not all there is to it, and you know it, Storm. This wasn't some random thug attack, so the captain will insist upon every little detail." he sighed. "Hells, githyanki? We have enough trouble with the gangs and with the Luskans trying to meddle, we don't need a new extraplanar threat on top of it all."

"True." She fiddled with her quill. "And if I knew anything that might help, I'd be sure to put it down, but I don't."

Bold-faced lie, of course. Not like she could tell the truth, that the creatures were after her. They'd most likely decide to throw her out, just like she'd been sent away from West Harbor to keep everyone else there safe. Luckily Khelgar had kept his mouth shut, and Cormick had believed her hasty explanation of recognizing bladelings from reading about them.

The marshal had had more important things on his mind anyway once the sent-for Many Starred Cloak mage had arrived and taken a thorough look at the green-skinned body. He had come to the same conclusion Brianna had.

"Can I read yours?" she asked, and Cormick handed over his piece of parchment. Her eyes flew over it.

"Helpful bystander?" she read with a frown. "Oh, you mean Khelgar. And I 'demonstrated competency and skill', did I?"

"You sure did." He rubbed his eyes. "What time is it? Roe should be here by now, I got him saddled with the night shift."

She glanced towards the window.

"No clue, but it's dark," she said helpfully.

Cormick sighed again and snatched his report back from across the desk.

"Bloody battered beholders, what a day this has been," he muttered. "Half the men are still in an uproar from that damned weapons shipment, I've got myself a failed sweep and yet another trashed shop, and on top of it all we've got githyanki in the city."

"I don't envy you," Brianna admitted, scribbling down yet another filler sentence. "I'll be glad to get back to the Flagon and not have to worry about how to handle all of this."

Cormick nodded. He was peering down on his report, frowning as though he was considering something, and then he threw the parchment onto the desk and got to his feet.

"Sir?" she asked carefully. Cormick had gotten out his key ring and was busy unlocking the lowest drawer of the supplies cabinet.

"You just gave me a great idea, Storm," the marshal replied after a moment's pause, before he pulled out the drawer. Brianna's ears picked up the low sound of clinking glass.

"Don't tell Lieutenant Roe about this, will you?" he asked as he returned to the desk, a bottle in hand. "It's the emergency ration." With that, he took a swig.

"What sort of emergency?" she asked. He shrugged and passed her the bottle.

"Starting fires. Cleaning wounds. Bad days. Drink up, Storm."

The first swallow burned so badly in her throat she nearly choked. She coughed and tried to draw breath and ended up doubled over her report with her face red and her lungs burning. She heard Cormick laugh, then felt his hand patting her on the back.

"Is Duncan's ale that watered down, then?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I don't usually drink," she admitted, still straining to breathe. He plucked the bottle from her grasp again.

"I won't make you, Storm, but I hope you won't mind if I do."

She shook her head as if to say she didn't mind, and as he sat back down, she once again focused on the report in front of her.

_In conclusion, I recommend…_

The words were beginning to swim again.

_In conclusion, I recommend the Watch create a special taskforce to deal with this new threat._

Right, that would get a laugh. As though they didn't all have their hands full with the situation in the docks already.

_In conclusion, I recommend ignoring the possibility of a new threat to Neverwinter, as this was clearly an isolated incident._

Even in her head, the words sounded ridiculous. There was no way Brelaina would buy that. And as soon as the next wave of bladelings or githyanki showed up, she would be proven false anyway.

She drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk. It was quite ironic, really, that the best way for the Watch to deal with this new threat was to simply allow her into Blacklake so she could investigate the shards further. But they did not know that, and she couldn't very well tell them without giving away far too much.

_In conclusion, I recommend we all panic._

It seemed like the thing to do, really. Briefly, she wondered why she was feeling so calm. She had dreaded another attack all this time she'd been in the city, aware that it was only a matter of time before the bladelings picked up her trail again. And now it had all turned out even worse than she had imagined, and she finally knew who her enemy was, yet all she was doing was getting drunk with her superior.

_In conclusion, I recommend we all join Marshal Cormick in dealing with the situation._

She reached for the bottle on the table and took a healthy gulp. This time, she was prepared for the burning sensation and barely flinched as the nasty-tasting liquid made its way down her throat. She didn't even dare ask what in the hells she was ingesting. It didn't pay to know this sort of thing.

She pushed the bottle back towards Cormick, who took it and gulped down several mouthfuls. His report was finished, so Brianna wasn't sure why he was still staring at the parchment as though he was expecting a hidden message to reveal itself.

"Sometimes I miss the swamp, you know," he blurted out suddenly. Brianna's head snapped up.

"What?" she asked, somewhat incredulously. Cormick shrugged.

"I like it well enough in the city, but back in the mere, things were so simple. Work hard, know how to fight, things are good. Here, it's all politics. Makes me wonder on occasion why in the hells I wanted to leave so bad."

Brianna could see his point, in a way. Things _had_ been simple back in West Harbor, though, as far as she was concerned, that hadn't exactly been a good thing. It wasn't hard to see how someone like Cormick would think so, though.

"You didn't know any better," she pointed out, before correcting herself and rephrasing the sentence to conform to the filter she had created in her mind. "We didn't know any better, isolated as everything is in the mere. We grew up being told that there's a whole big world out there, and with nothing but swampland around and everyone working so hard just to survive, we assumed that any other place, the world out there, would have to be better."

"You're probably right," he conceded.

"I know I am." She gave him a weak smile, and, to help chase away the memories of West Harbor now swirling through her mind, she took the bottle from him again and swallowed another mouthful of its contents.

"Do you miss it?"

She stared at the bottle, letting her eyes lose focus for a moment. _No_, would have been the correct answer. But it might have upset Cormick, who was clearly fond of West Harbor.

"Sometimes," she said instead. "It's all still very new for me, this whole rest of the world business."

"You'll start to wish you'd never left on occasion as soon as routine sets in," he assured her. She doubted that rather a lot, but remained silent.

"Did you know I've got a standing order from Brelaina not to report or otherwise deal with turncloaks?" he asked dully. "She's of the opinion that we need every man, no matter how corrupt, no matter how much they sell out to the gangs. I know my men are leaking information left and right, but my hands are tied pretty damn tightly by the good captain."

Well, that was new. She was certain his willingness to share that information was fueled by the alcohol. Those weren't orders the existence of which it was a good idea for him to share.

"Well, if it helps, nobody's even tried to bribe me," she told him. "Probably think I'm tied to you too closely. That explains why the rest of the watchmen seem to hate me, though."

"They do?" Cormick sounded honestly startled by the idea.

"Hells Cormick, you're supposed to be observant. Yes, they do. I don't mind much, though."

It occurred to her that the marshal wasn't the only one whose tongue seemed to be loosened by the drink. She had better watch herself, lest she said something truly damaging.

_In conclusion, I recommend informing all watchmen of this possible new threat and enforcing constant vigilance._

It wasn't going to help any, but she realized that this was likely the best her mind could come up with in the state she was in, so she dipped her quill in the ink and scribbled the words onto the parchment.

"I'm done," she informed Cormick and dropped her quill onto the desk. The marshal gave a relieved sigh.

"We'll file these together, then."

She took his report along with her own, sanded and folded them and went to grab some wax from the supplies cabinet. Cormick got up and came after her.

"Brelaina will be glad to have those first thing in the morning," he remarked. "I know word got out about our green-skinned friend, and if she weren't so patient a woman I probably would have gotten orders to report to headquarters already."

"Do you think she'll want to question me, too?"

He shrugged. "Can't tell for certain. She is thorough, but I don't know whether she'll think you could tell her anything I couldn't."

He pressed his signet to the wax, and once he was finished she turned and slipped the folded parchment into the proper tray. Now she really was done for the day, and damn ready to return to the Flagon and enjoy a full night's worth of sleep.

"Storm," Cormick said behind her.

She wasn't sure how it could have escaped her that he had laid both of his hands onto her waist. She felt them now as she turned to face him, sliding over the material of her cloak, settling lightly onto her sides. The expression on his face was foreign, his eyes unfocused.

_Oh, crap._

He stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed her.

If he'd been forceful, she would have fought. If he'd been anyone else, she would have slapped him and run. But he was rather gentle and almost reluctant, and it was Cormick, and even now her mind was on alert, reminding her that she damn well could not afford to piss him off.

So she froze. Stood there, unmoving, her mind racing in circles as his lips moved on hers.

_What do I do now? What I the hells is he thinking? How did this even happen? What do I do? What is he expecting me to do?_

Just as her brain was beginning to unfreeze, just as she realized he was probably hoping she would respond, he pulled back. Stepped back, too, until there was a good foot of space between them.

"My apologies, Storm." His voice was shaky, his eyes downcast. "That was… most inappropriate."

_Hells. Now he feels guilty. Is that good or bad for me? Blast it, is he going to resent me for making him feel that way? I should have figured this out faster, damn it all._

The sound of a key chain rattling and steps on the stone floor broke what tension there was between them. Just as Lieutenant Roe entered the room, Brianna was busy removing the wooden tag with her name on it from the on-duty roster, and Cormick was closing and locking the lowest drawer of the supplies cabinet.

"Marshal," Roe greeted, conveniently ignoring Brianna. "I come directly from headquarters, had a bit of a delay. The captain just put out some new orders you're not going to like."

Brianna decided that it was for the best if she simply snuck out while the two men were talking. With any luck, this particular incident would simply never be mentioned again and the relationship she had built up with Cormick wouldn't change.

"Storm," she heard Cormick's voice just as she had reached the door, and she slumped. "It's late and dark out, and you're a young female and this is the docks. No offense, but I'll be walking you home."

_Oh, bloody hells._

_

* * *

_

They walked in silence, their steps echoing on the cobblestones as they made their way through near-deserted streets. The docks were never completely asleep, but what night life there was took place in the smaller alleyways and hidden corners, and it wasn't meant for the eyes of the watchmen.

"I'd like to apologize again, Storm." They were the first words he'd said since they had left the station, and Brianna tensed up at once. "It won't happen again, not ever."

He did seem rather tormented by what he'd done. That he brought it up again probably meant he was waiting for some sort of reaction from her, but she hadn't a clue what reaction she should be giving him.

_It wasn't so terrible, was it? Not like Wyl. Not forced, not brutal. Cormick's not a bad person._

And what if she gave in? Would it be so bad?

_It's a fact of life, women lay with men all the time. I'll have to get used to it at some point._

She clenched her hands into fists as she considered something she'd forced out of her mind for far too long.

Amie, looking up at Bevil in the field with a look in her eyes Brianna couldn't ever imagine in her own. She wondered what she might feel right now if it was possible for her mind to be free of all those negative emotions Wyl had stirred within her when it came to men. Would she be less afraid? Less panicked? Would she maybe even want Cormick to take her to bed?

_How long am I going to let Wyl keep tearing down everything I've built in my life, anyway?_

Cormick cleared his throat. She looked up to see the Sunken Flagon's illuminated windows just across the street.

"I bid you good night, then," he said, obviously expecting her to make the rest of the way on her own.

_Well it's now or never, isn't it?_

She took a deep breath, turned towards him and found his mouth with hers.


	20. One Long Night

_Author's Note: This chapter is one of those that earns this story an M rating, and not necessarily for smut. You have been warned.__ Also, I am not a medical professional of any sort. It's be neat if I was, but I ventured into the field of education instead. Any medical details mentioned may therefore not be one hundred percent factual. _

_For those of you wondering whether Brianna will ever catch a break, I swear she's about to. Just not quite yet. Soon, honest, I swear. This chapter was rather emotionally exhausting for me to write, and I need a positive change as much as she does.  
_

_

* * *

_

* * *

**One Long Night**

During the time it took them to get to Cormick's place, Brianna discovered that kissing truly wasn't as disgusting a thing as she'd always thought.

It was in fact quite bearable to have her lips touched by those of someone who wasn't out to bite or bruise them or to spit in her mouth. It wasn't such a terrible thing to taste another man's mouth, a man whose breath, alcohol-laced as it was, didn't make her gag. And it was even pleasant to feel arms around her waist that weren't preparing to hurt her or throw her to the floor.

They hadn't said a word during their walk from the Flagon to the north side of the district, but every so often Cormick had stopped and turned to her and kissed her again, as if to make sure that she hadn't changed her mind. And every one of these kisses had been a bit more bearable than the last, until, to her surprise, she found herself enjoying the intimacy.

At some point during the walk, her mind had stopped spinning in circles, and seemed to have resigned itself to being set on the path she had chosen. She had made the decision, and there was no changing her mind again now. Whether brought on by the alcohol or by the knowledge that whatever was bound to happen would just happen, her mind had given up trying to think about it all and slowed almost to a standstill, leaving her feeling comfortably numb and slightly dizzy.

She was glad she had a wall to lean against as he took her in his arms again. His kiss was slightly more forward now, and he parted her lips with his tongue after several seconds. She lifted her arms and clung to his shoulders, and he inched even closer, holding her tightly against his chest.

It all felt surprisingly nice. She didn't ordinarily like people touching her, and she should have felt trapped between him and the wall, but he wasn't pushing, just holding her there, and somehow that made it more than bearable.

Eventually he let go of her again and unlocked the door they were standing by. She followed him inside.

She didn't have much of a chance to take a look at the room they were in, because Cormick barely allowed the door to shut before he was kissing her again, shutting out the moonlight and plunging them in darkness. Now that they were in private, the marshal seemed gripped by urgency. She didn't mind it at first and let herself be guided by his body in the dark room, but when she ended up against the wall again, his thigh suddenly pressed between hers and his hands tearing at her cloak, her stomach began to churn with the onset of panic and she gripped his wrists hard.

"Slow," she asked breathlessly between kisses. "Please."

She could feel him nod, the scruff on his cheek scratching her face. His hands still worked on removing her cloak, but more gently now, and he had stopped pushing. It occurred to her that this was most likely meant to be a mutual thing, and she raised her shaking hands to the fastenings of his cloak.

She felt at ease again once she had gotten used to this new procedure. Kisses, growing more intense by the minute, followed by exploratory touches as yet another piece of clothing was removed. Some buckles were tricky to open, providing a distraction for her mind that prevented it from overthinking her situation as she felt his callused hands on her skin.

It was an odd sensation to be touched like this, by the man she'd been taking her orders from, no less. This was new, different, not at all what she was used to. They were so close, and she could feel the heat from his body on her skin, and hells, she had to admit that his touch felt all sorts of nice.

She had been concentrating only on getting his clothes removed, too preocupied to consider doing anything else until he took both her hands and placed them on his chest. She could feel the muscles under his skin, and the furry layer of hair atop it, and his heartbeat under her right palm. Her breath came short as in that moment, the intimacy of the situation fully hit her.

She felt him leaning forward and expected another kiss, but her mouth was not his target this time. Instead, she felt his breath on her neck and shoulder, followed by his lips and tongue kissing a hasty path up past her ear. He pulled her fully against him then, and her arms came around his waist and her breasts were pressed against his chest. He made a sound, something between a sigh and a groan, and she found herself pulled forward and stumbled against him as he moved. His hands adjusted their grip on her, and she was lifted up and promptly lost her orientation in the darkness of the room.

Her back collided with something soft and she found hersef horizontal. There was still only black before her eyes, and she didn't want to hurt him or herself by accident, so she lay still and waited. Some uncomfortable emotion was beginning to make her stomach flutter again, fear or nervousness, she wasn't sure.

Her ears picked up the sound of yet another buckle being released, the rustling of fabric. Then the mattress he'd laid her on dipped down next to her, and his hands were back on her skin, tugging at her leggings. Much too soon, the last shred of clothing was gone and she realized that there was nothing left between them now but air.

She felt her heart pounding throughout all of her body, and it wasn't helping to calm down the uncomfortable flutters inside her. When Cormick pressed himself close to her, she felt that his breath was coming short too, though, she thought, likely not for the same reason hers was. He moved atop her, kissing her again greedily, his hands on her hips, one leg parting hers, and she felt him against her inner thigh, hard and ready. And then the ball of blinding fear exploded within her.

_No, please, stop, slow down. I can't see you, I don't know…_

Was it rotten teeth she tasted in his mouth?

"Cormick," she gasped when his lips left hers, "Cormick, please, I…"

"Yes," he breathed.

He kissed her again, more deeply, silencing her with his lips and tongue. She realized then that he had taken her words for arousal, encouragement, and just as she began to frantically squirm beneath him, to try and make him understand, he held her hips tight and shifted, and thrust, and sheathed himself within her.

_Too late, I can't say no anymore, I can't say no, I need his help, I need him to stay on my side._

He'd claimed her body, she could feel him inside, making her feel so very vulnerable. All gentleness was gone from him now, and he seemed too lost in his passion to realize he was taking something not freely given. She kept still beneath him, however. It was too late to take back her consent, her actions, and nothing she could do would make it better now. All that was left for her to do was to wait it out.

It was many long minutes that she lay there, her hands on his shoulders, waiting. She found herself wondering whether it was the drink, or whether Cormick was simply the sort of man that took more time to be satisfied than the likes of Wyl Mossfeld. He was kneading the flesh of her breasts until they were sore, and his mouth every so often dipped down to taste her lips or her skin again.

Eventually, finally, she felt him tense and shudder. Where Wyl had always been silent, enjoying the final act of defilement with a malicious little smile, Cormick groaned and gasped and gripped her shoulders so hard she couldn't help but whimper. He collapsed then, and she briefly felt crushed by his weight before he rolled himself off to the side.

His heavy breaths rang in her ear. She listened as they calmed and slowed.

For a long while she lay there and stared into the darkness.

_So now I know what it's like._

Her thoughts, first so slow, then racing, seemed to have come to a complete standstill. She was empty inside. Blessedly empty.

* * *

She had no idea how long it was before she was truly conscious of herself again. It was still dark, and Cormick was snoring next to her, and it occurred to her that it was probably a good idea to get the hells out of there.

So she inched off the bed and wiped his semen off her thighs. She spent several cursed minutes groping for her clothes in the dark. Once she was decently covered, she felt her way to the door and slipped outside.

At some point during the night, the wind had picked up, and rain was drizzling from the sky. Judging by the moon, it was the early hours of the morning that saw her escape. She pulled up her hood and stuck to the shadows because this _was_ the docks, and she _was_ a lone woman, watchcloak or no, and she knew this wasn't the time and place for her to be careless.

By the time she reached the inn, her entire body was shaking with a mixture of cold and tiredness and something like shock. She drew her cloak even more tightly around herself and hurried towards the building, craving the familiar surroundings.

The Flagon's front door, the one that led into the taproom, was bound to be bolted at this hour, but she carried the key fitting one of the two back doors leading into the inn. She hadn't needed to use it until now, but she was utterly grateful for Duncan's foresight when he had insisted she carry it.

It was only a few steps from the back door to her room. She crossed the distance in no time at all, and then she was breathing in the familiar scent of lye soap she had come to associate with her peculiar sanctuary. Her fingers found the edge of the chalice on her dresser. The room was bathed into low golden light. Without hesitation she stripped down to only her tunic and then stood, trying to decide whether a pitcher of water and her washbasin would suffice, or whether she could stand to wait long enough to draw a bath.

Her eyes fell on the vial lying on the table next to the basin.

The world stopped for a heartbeat.

Before she managed to consider what she was doing, she had reached out, wrested the cork from the vial and swallowed the soapy green liquid in one gulp.

It did taste faintly bitter. Like unripe berries.

She felt it trickling down her throat and realized what she'd just done.

_Well, congratulations. That was probably rather stupid._

She stared at the warped lines of her palm through the empty glass. Sand had given her a list of precautions to take to make sure this concoction wouldn't kill her, but she could not remember a single one of them just now.

It occurred to her that this might be the latest of a string of rather fatal mistakes she had made lately.

_Drink water,_ her mind finally supplied the one bit of advice Sand had emphasized the most.

The pitcher next to the washbasin was only half empty, but that wouldn't be enough. Sand had emphasized _lots_ of water. Beforehand, not after, but she couldn't be picky. She would have to go fetch more.

Though her tunic came almost to her knees, she picked up her cloak and wrapped it around her body before venturing out into the hallway, glowing chalice in hand. Even in the wee hours of the morning, it was best not to trust that every soul in the inn was actually asleep. And she'd rather not run into anyone, especially of the male persuasion, with her legs bare to the thigh.

The rough floorboards felt uncomfortable under her bare feet. Halfway down the hall, she began to wonder how long it would take for the potion to take effect. She hadn't taken all that many potions in her life, so her experience was rather limited. Healing potions were about the extent of it, and those worked almost instantaneously, fueled by the magic that was used to make them. Given that what she had drunk seemed entirely herbal, she figured it would take a bit longer before the agents reached her bloodstream.

The taproom was illuminated only by the glow of nearly burnt-out embers, abandoned but for a dark shape that was huddled near the fireplace. Brianna wasn't too keen to find out who or what this could be, so she tried to be quiet as she crossed the room and made for the kitchen.

"Brianna?" the dark shape asked reluctantly, in a familiar voice she had not expected to hear. She whirled around and stared.

"Neeshka?"

The shape moved and threw off a cloak, and the next thing Brianna knew the tiefling was in front of her, and she had dropped the chalice and both of her arms were around Neeshka, and she was holding on to the girl for dear life.

"I thought you'd gone," she whispered. Her eyes were stinging suspiciously. She blinked.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's a long story." Neeshka was clinging to Brianna just as tightly. "I didn't mean to _stay_ gone, I was just upset and wanted some time to myself, and while I was out I ran into some old friends, and, well, things got a bit ugly from there."

"It's been weeks."

"I know."

Neeshka felt so _comforting_. Brianna was used to being alone, to dealing with everything that was thrown her way by herself. It had always been that way for her. She fought through the pain and came out battered and bruised, but stronger for it, that was how it worked. But the pain had somehow lessened when Neeshka had put her arms around her.

Finally, the tiefling let go, looking sheepish.

"I'm glad you aren't upset with me," she said. "I thought you would be."

Brianna shook her head. "Not upset, no. I just thought…"

She left the sentence unfinished, instead ending with a shrug. It wasn't the time to get into all of the doubts that had run through her mind over the past several weeks.

"I was waiting up for you," the tiefling confessed. "Duncan left the front door unbolted for you. He seemed kinda worried."

"I was… out," Brianna said vaguely.

_Not so keen on explaining this one._

"Oh. Well." Neeshka drew up her shoulders, her tail twitching. "So, do you… do you want to know what I've been up to?"

"Yeah," she said, before it occurred to her that this exact moment wasn't all that opportune. "Bit of a problem though."

"I understand if you're tired," Neeshka assured her. "Hells, I understand if you'd rather not know, but I don't mind sharing in case you do want to know, and…"

Brianna felt, quite suddenly, as though an invisible hand had reached through her skin and into her lower belly, clenched tight, and _twisted_ with the sort of sick viciousness needed to extinguish a life.

The world went black. When blinked back into existence, she found herself on her knees, arms wrapped about her midsection.

"Brianna?" Neeshka was kneeling next to her. "What's wrong? Are you sick? Do you want me to get Elanee?"

"Elanee's gone," she forced out.

She was shaking. All over. She felt hot, and then cold.

This wasn't good.

"Gone? What do you mean… I'll get Duncan, then."

"No!"

She near shouted the word, clumsily groping for Neeshka's hand. "Don't tell him. He can't know."

She couldn't bear the thought of her uncle knowing. Of anyone else knowing.

"Who, then?" Neeshka's voice was one third gentle and two thirds panic. "You look like you're fresh from the hells, Bree." Her hand stroked the hair back from Brianna's forehead. "You're shaking. And sweating too. You're sick."

"I'm alright," she forced out between clenched teeth. "Just help me… get back to bed."

The pain returned in a wave, building up slowly, until even her arms couldn't support her any more and she collapsed completely to the floor, and it was _still_ getting worse…

_Oh hells, hells, hells, it hurts._

The front door flew open at that very moment.

Brianna clenched her fists. It was bad enough that Neeshka was a witness to what was happening with her body. She didn't need anyone else seeing her on all fours on the tavern floor and making mention to Duncan in the morning. But she wasn't able to move, wasn't even sure she should be moving. It seemed like an altogether bad idea.

"Hey, you!" Neeshka called.

_Whoever it is, just make them go away please, Neeshka. Please._

There were steps, drawing closer, and finally stopping just beside her. She blinked her eyes open, turned her head to the side and saw a worn, wet pair of leather boots.

"Can you help?" Neeshka was pleading, and that scared Brianna. "I don't even know what's wrong with her. I think it might be poison."

One of the boots lifted and prodded her ribs. It made her feel like an animal marked for slaughter. She whimpered pathetically as the pain peaked again, and clamped her arms more tightly around her lower torso.

There was a snort, and then that low, acidic drawl.

"What, you didn't even know the little girl got herself knocked up?"

The words sliced her to the bone as her secret was dragged out in the open without so much as a warning.

_How does he know, how…?_

Her thoughts were spinning. She turned her head back and pressed her forehead to the floorboards.

"Is he telling the truth? Bree, do you… are you…?"

Neeshka's voice sounded far away. Brianna nodded weakly, head still resting on the floor. She didn't have the energy for denial.

She could feel the tiefling's hand stroking her back in some helpless gesture.

"Can you help her? Please?"

That derisive snort again, and then the boots moved away.

"Not my problem."

Brianna felt herself beginning to drift in the haze of pain. She could still hear the words, but she felt far removed from whatever was taking place in the taproom.

"She's my friend, and I won't let her die. If you just…"

"Are you deaf, demon girl?"

"Look, I said please! What more do you want, damn it?"

Silence.

"Fine. Fine!"

Clattering on the floor.

"That's magical. Worth quite a lot. Now, will you _help_?"

More silence.

She was unprepared when she was suddenly gripped by the shoulders and forced out of her curled up position. A grunt of pain escaped her. A hand ripped her cloak off her, and a moment later she found herself laid out on top of it, by the fireplace.

"You're hurting her!"

"Shut up, little goat."

The haze lifted, giving her body a moment of respite. She blinked and looked up into the rather unsettling eyes of Bishop the smuggler.

"Where did you get it?"

She stared up at him, not comprehending.

"Whatever you took, where did you get it?"

"Sand," she managed to force out. He made a sound of disgust.

"Next time, go to a Sunite."

"There won't be a next time," she breathed.

His hand dipped unceremoniously beneath the hem of her tunic, and she yelped when she felt his gloved fingers pressing between her legs. When he brought them up between their faces, she could see the tips glistening with thick, sticky wetness.

The corners of his mouth turned up in a cruel smirk.

"Yeah, sure there won't."

_You gods-damned, thrice-cursed son of a bitch…_

"Are you actually going to help instead of just being a bastard?" Neeshka asked sharply.

Brianna watched him turn his head to look somewhere beyond her field of vision.

"Use your brains, if you got any, that is." He wiped his fingers on her tunic. "She's given any healing now, it'll stop her body from finishing what it's busy doing, and that little worthless chunk of flesh and bones she's so eager to get rid of will stay nice and tight in her belly. There's nothing I can do until she starts bleeding."

Her head was lifted by a small, gentle hand, and something bunched up and soft was slid underneath it.

"So what do we do?" Neeshka asked.

A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and then his other was on her lower belly and he was _pushing down_ and everything went dark and swirly and she screamed her lungs out into his leather-covered palm until she had no air left to scream with.

* * *

When she came to, Neeshka was sitting by her side and was holding a bulbous bottle whose contents seemed murky brown in the low light.

"He said for you to drink that," said the tiefling, looking mostly horrified.

Brianna obediently opened her mouth and swallowed in spurts. Whatever she was ingesting tasted like moss and mud and all kinds of nasty forest things rolled into one. But a tingling feeling lingered in the back of her throat, and that told her it was magical.

Neeshka was peering down at her. "Did it help?"

"Yes." Her voice came out in a whisper. She wondered briefly whether she had screamed herself hoarse or was just lacking the energy to speak more loudly. "Not with the pain, but I feel a bit better."

Indeed, the dull throbbing in her lower belly that had accompanied her return to consciousness persisted. But whatever had been in that potion was now coursing through her body, strengthening it.

"You've been losing blood," Neeshka informed her in a carefully neutral tone. "Kind of a lot of it, but he said…" She broke off to turn a glare beyond Brianna's field of vision. She assumed it was aimed at Bishop.

"I'm sorry," the tiefling whispered then. "I didn't know what else to do. I still owe you one, for saving my life back by Fort Locke, and you were looking so horrible and I was really, really scared. And he was the only one around."

"'s okay," Brianna mumbled, trying for a smile. If not for Neeshka, she considered, she would have had to go through this all by herself, and that probably would have been a whole terrible lot worse. The air was rife with the metallic smell of blood, and that told her rather a lot.

The other girl squeezed her hand.

Without any warning whatsoever, leather-covered fingers were in between her thighs again. She flinched, and he gripped her thigh hard enough to bruise.

"Hold still."

Rough fabric brushed her legs as he tugged on something she couldn't see. Finally, he pulled back and handed Neeshka a blood-drenched bundle.

"Burn that," he said shortly. The tiefling wordlessly took the bundle and vanished in the direction of the hearth in the kitchen.

Another potion was pressed to her lips, rather roughly. She didn't complain. At this point, she was glad he didn't pinch her nose shut to make her swallow.

The taste was familiar, a minty sort of rotten eggs. _Healing potion._

She gulped it down gratefully. It was a pretty strong one, and as soon as she'd swallowed the last mouthful she felt the prickle of magic flowing through her body, fixing everything that was broken inside. She felt suddenly only tired.

It was over. The whole nightmarish thing was finally over, done with, and she was still alive and her problem was gone.

"Thank you," she whispered, honestly grateful, and closed her eyes.

"You know," he said, slowly, measured, as though he was considering something. "I really ought to tell your dear uncle about this. Do the right thing. He'd want to know."

She was too tired to even be upset about it at this point.

"How much?" she asked, eyes still closed.

There was a moment of silence as he appeared to be considering it.

"Hundred gold."

It wouldn't leave her desolate, but it was damn near two thirds of her savings. She opened her eyes again to glare at him.

"This better be a one time payment."

He had the gall to grin at her.

"Watch doesn't pay that well, does it?"

"No," she replied curtly, not sure what he was getting at, and not sure she wanted to find out.

"You could make a hundred gold in a couple of nights if you changed your profession to something more… suitable," he suggested, putting just enough emphasis on the last word to make her catch his full meaning.

"Go to the hells," she told him quietly, and closed her eyes again.

"I'm sure I'm bound there eventually," he smirked.

She had no energy to try to keep up on any kind of verbal sparring match, so she didn't even attempt to reply.

"Anyway, congratulations," he said, getting up from his squatting position. "You little bundle of joy is a pile of ash now."

_Living, breathing being no longer._

She wondered what Elanee would say if she knew how callously Brianna had thrown the child's life away. She almost wanted to find the woman and tell her, if only to upset her with it.

It occurred to her suddenly that this was how Bishop knew. The only time she'd ever talked about it had been with Elanee, and she hadn't exactly kept her voice down while she'd been busy hurling tankards at the druidess. She'd even run into the man not too long before that.

_I'm blaming Elanee for this one too, just because she is a rotten bitch._

"Well, I'm going to bed," he announced. "You should, too, before someone finds you here and wonders why you're laying half-naked in the middle of the room."

She did not reply.

"But wash first. You're reeking of blood, and you'll never earn any money that way."

"_Please_ go to the hells," she mumbled, using what felt like the last of her energy.

He chuckled as he walked away.

"You can pay me tomorrow."


	21. Retaliation

**Retaliation**

It was nearly noon when Brianna wandered out into the taproom. She had awoken from a dreamless sleep long after her shift had started, but she didn't care. She'd need the rest very badly. What had happened couldn't be changed, and either she'd get in trouble for missing her shift or she wouldn't.

The front door had been wedged open. She caught a glimpse of Duncan standing on the steps outside and went to join him. Every inch of her body hurt as she walked, but it was a benign kind of hurt. The sort she could bear and that she knew would heal.

The sky was covered in thick gray clouds. The air was foggy, dense, and when she sniffed the air she realized why.

"What's burning?" she asked.

Duncan turned towards her, as though seeing her for the first time.

"The Watch, lass," he said.

_Oh. _

When she stepped closer to him, she could see the tall column of dark smoke standing out over the roofs, drifting lazily to one side. Duncan was staring at it.

She stood with him quietly for a while. There was a cold breeze tugging at her clothes, but she didn't mind it.

It reminded her that she was alive.

"I gather that's why you didn't wake me."

He nodded, after a moment's pause.

"You were running late last night. I checked in on you in the morning, but you looked like you needed the sleep."

"I did."

There weren't very many people on the streets. Some were going about their business, others were looking up at the column of smoke just like she and Duncan were. But most of the district's inhabitants seemed to have decided that this was not the time to be out and about. Or, maybe, they were busy gawking at the damage up close.

"It'll be mostly out by now," Duncan remarked. "They were forming chains earlier, to fetch water from the harbor. I didn't want to leave the inn, but I sent Sal to help."

"How bad?" she asked.

"It's nearly burnt out, lass. Not much left except walls."

It took her a long moment to digest this. The station, gone.

"Do they know who did it yet?"

"Word on the street says Moire."

_Moire. _

_The weapons shipment Cormick and his men intercepted. _

_This is retaliation. _

"She's declared a war, hasn't she?" Her voice was blank. She was still too drained to feel much of anything.

Duncan put his arm around her shoulders, standing next to her.

"Yes lass, she has."

* * *

She'd never actually entered the tall, grey stone building that marked the center of the merchant district. While she knew that this was where her reports were read and where most of her orders originated, she'd never actually had to report to headquarters for any reason, and there hadn't been time for sightseeing.

The building was buzzing like a beehive. Watchmen hurried along the corridors, asking questions and exchanging information. Others were moving along with grim determination. There were worry and anger in every face she passed. Not that it was a surprise, after what had happened.

It was a bit intimidating. The outpost, back in the docks, had soon been familiar, and she had known most of the faces after a only few days. She'd quickly had a feel for the station. Now, most everyone was a stranger to her and she was feeling rather out of place. On top of that, her body was still weak from the ordeal it had been through, but it helped her confidence a little that both Neeshka and Khelgar had insisted on being by her side.

"Wow," Neeshka repeated for the third time, looking around. "I never thought I'd see this place from the inside without having been arrested."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Brianna said, turning to her, "but try to stay low-key. I don't have nearly enough pull to get you out of trouble."

"Don't worry," Neeshka assured her. "I'll keep my tail in line."

"Thanks."

They turned a corner and found yet another bit of corridor. Brianna immediately searched for a face she recognized, Cormick, Lieutenant Roe or even just one of the sergeants that usually oversaw the watchposts in the docks. Word was going around that there had been casualties in the fire, but she hadn't yet found anyone who might have been able to tell her names. The thought of Cormick possibly being among the dead made her feel distinctly funny.

"Hey, recruit! Storm!"

She was rather impressed that the man who addressed her so knew her name, because she had no idea what his was, and she wasn't usually bad with names.

"Yes?" she asked, peering up at him and trying to determine his rank. His cloak was devoid of insignia, just like her own.

"Captain's been asking about you," the man said and nodded towards a door.

"Brelaina?"

"Yeah. You should go see her."

Without another word, she turned and marched in the direction he was pointing. Captain Brelaina was one woman she did not want to keep waiting.

Two watchmen, officers, were leaving the office just as Brianna approached. One of them held the door open for her.

"Careful," he warned her, looking rueful, and Brianna realized what he meant by that once she heard the raised voices from within.

Cormick was standing in one corner of the room. His jaw was clenched, and he looked positively ready to murder someone. Despite that, she had to admit she was glad to see him alive. He turned his head as she entered, and Brianna felt the blood rush to her face as she blushed worse than she could ever remember having blushed before.

_Well. Probably should have anticipated that. _

Cormick didn't blush, but he looked just about as uncomfortable as she felt.

"You must be Brianna Storm, the recruit I've heard so much about."

The voice, though melodic and feminine, could have cut through steel and mercifully interrupted their moment of awkwardness. Brianna turned and focused her attention on the woman it belonged to.

Captain Brelaina radiated competence and the sort of no-nonsense attitude that was a boon to the leadership position she occupied. She was wiry but elegant, with closely cropped brown hair and eyes that gave Brianna the impression that this woman could see right through her. She realized at once that this was not someone who could be easily played.

She saluted hastily, and Brelaina was already speaking again.

"You'll be aware of the situation, of course," she said, and Brianna felt obliged to nod. She hoped the captain was referring to the obvious.

"The Watch is in turmoil. Moire and her gang made a bold move, one that cannot go unanswered if we are to have any hope of retaining control of the docks district. Already, the citizens' trust in our forces is fading."

"Because half of our men are turncoats," Cormick spat.

Brelaina's head snapped around, and her eyes narrowed as she regarded the marshal.

"And as I have already discussed with you, we do not have the luxury of making this our primary concern at the moment. With funds being diverted to reconstruction, we do not have the means of paying salaries that would curb a watchman's need to look for coin elsewhere."

"Greedy cowards. If found, any turncoat should be executed for betraying their city and their fellow watchmen!"

Brianna's eyes kept darting from one to the other as she realized that this had to have been a continuation of the argument she had walked in on.

"If we did this, we would be fighting a war on two fronts, and our forces would be crushed. I sympathize with your frustration, marshal…"

"Frustration? Lieutenant Roe and three recruits _died_ in that fire! I don't only speak for myself when I say that feelings are getting to be more than mere frustration, captain."

"All the more reason to keep a cool head," Brelaina snapped. "Moire wants us in disarray, in a panic, and some kneejerk reaction is not going to help our cause. And that is _enough_, marshal," she emphasized when Cormick opened his mouth to reply.

Brianna felt distinctly uncomfortable between her two bickering superiors. She half-wondered whether she had been forgotten about, but after a short pause Brelaina turned back towards her and regarded her once more with that measured gaze.

"I'll be blunt with you, recruit. On record, you have been effective and dependable, and you come highly recommended."

She knew, of course, that this was exactly what Cormick had been working on for her all this time, but it still felt rather strange to hear this sort of praise from Brelaina's mouth.

"Moire's aggressiveness, as I said before, calls for immediate action from our side. I have hand-picked a number of watchmen I consider trustworthy and competent and taken them off their regular duties in order to deal with this matter. I want you to be part of this initiative."

Brianna's throat was dry as she regarded the woman.

_This sounds dangerous. It's an opportunity, certainly, but it seems dangerous as hell. _

_I don't think I'll be able to refuse this one without destroying everything I've worked for. _

Brelaina's hand closed around a small object on her desk.

"I want you to take Lieutenant Roe's place," the captain said and stepped closer. "Do you accept?"

_Oh._

_What? _

She stared.

"Uh…"

_I don't have a damn choice, do I? _

"Yes?" she said tentatively. Her voice sounded strangely high-pitched to her own ears.

Brelaina reached out for a fold of her cloak.

_Lieutenant? Seriously?_

Gold glinted in the torchlight as the symbol of her new rank was pinned to her uniform. The captain stepped back.

_Did this really just happen?_

"Well then, lieutenant," Brelaina said, sounding satisfied. "Welcome aboard. Time is of the essence, so I will be brief. We need to get to Moire as soon as possible, before she has the chance to cause any more deaths or disruption. We also need to keep the damage she can do under control."

Brianna felt her heartbeat accelerate.

"You want me to find Moire?" Her voice was still sounding squeaky like that of a little girl, damn it all. But she'd just realized that there was a serious problem looming before her. Her body was still healing and not exactly in good enough shape to be doing the sort of tasks Brelaina was expecting.

She calmed ever so slightly when the captain shook her head.

"No, Lieutenant. You will not be part of the main force tracking her down. I have another assignment for you, one that is nonetheless important. During the recent development, one of our best informants was compromised, and we need to get him to safety here in headquarters before one of Moire's gang can get to him."

"You want me to escort him?"

The captain nodded.

"Now that he has nothing to lose, he no longer has to withhold information from us in order to keep his cover. He could doubtlessly be useful in hampering Moire's operations, but he needs to be alive to help have posted a guard by his house, but that alone may not be nearly enough. I need you to get him, and I need you to do it now."

She found herself walking from the room before she'd even had time to process all that had just happened, and pushing her way past the watchmen in the hallway so fast that Khelgar and Neeshka had to break into a run to keep up with her.

_Lieutenant. _

_What in the hells?_

It suddenly occurred to her that the target painted on her had just gotten to be about twice as large as a result of this battlefield promotion.

"Well, fuck," she muttered under her breath, and began to walk even faster.

* * *

Through weeks of patrolling, Brianna had more than a passing familiarity with the streets and alleys that made up the docks district by now. When it came to the merchant quarter, however, she hadn't a clue where she was going and what was the fastest way to get there, so she let Neeshka lead the way through streets that looked much cleaner than those she walked every day, past houses surrounded by decorative hedgerows.

"So, not that I'm complaining," Neeshka said while they hurried along, "but I thought that you throwing your lot in with the Watch would mean they'd send plenty of backup."

Brianna smiled without humor. "I wish. Well, you heard her, with all the turncoats we have running loose, there wouldn't have been any guarantee that whoever she sent with me wouldn't attempt to cut my throat and abduct this man we're going to save."

"But, sending you alone?" Neeshka tilted her head.

"I'm not alone," Brianna pointed out. "I've got Khelgar, and you too, I hope."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," Neeshka assured her. "The only time I've ever gotten to see any of these houses from the inside was during a break-in. This'll be fun!"

"I hope you're right about that."

Brianna threw back her head and looked at the house in front of which they had stopped. It was a two-story building, and beautiful, if a bit ostentatious. The front lawn was immaculately kept.

"Who is this guy again?" Neeshka asked.

"Merchant," Brianna answered curtly, because time was short and because she didn't know a whole lot herself. "Name is Fihelis."

"Never heard of him," Neeshka admitted. "But hey, I don't know everything."

Gravel crunched underneath their boots as they approached the wide entrance. As soon as Brianna spotted the single uniformed watchman slumped over in a dark corner, she knew that this mission would not be as simple as she'd hoped.

_It never is, is it? Why does this always happen?_

She stepped close and determinedly shook the man's shoulder, on the off chance that he had only fallen asleep. The watchman tipped to the side and sprawled on the ground. She searched for a pulse and found none.

"Probably poison," Neeshka said in a low voice. The tiefling put her hands on the man's face, and she was peering into his dead eyes and opening his mouth with her fingers. "He can't have been dead for longer than… hm, only a few minutes, if it _was_ poison. I think."

"You'd know this better than me," Brianna deferred to her. "I haven't a clue about poisons."

"I've used a few different ones in my life, but the thing is, well..." Neeshka let go of the man's head, and the body slumped back to the ground. "For some of them, I'd have to cut him open to prove it was what killed him. If we found a dart or arrow wound on his body, or even a nick from a dagger…"

"No time, tiefling," Khelgar grunted. He had his axe drawn, and looking at him, Brianna realized that there might still be time to save the merchant. If Neeshka was right about the watchman's time of death, the thugs had only just entered the house, and if Fihelis was smart and hid, or had barricaded himself in a room, at least…

On the other hand, entering the house, just the three of them, was madness. They had no idea how many people might be in this house, waiting to kill them. They had no idea what the layout of the house was, where Fihelis might be, no idea about anything.

_However, as always, I do have a pretty good idea I'll be screwed pretty good if I return to Brelaina empty-handed._

"Alright," she said, after she had mulled it over, and drew her weapon. The hilt hummed quietly against her palm. "Here's the plan. We'll go in slow, Khelgar in front. Neeshka and me will be sticking to the shadows but ready to fight once we run across whoever poisoned the guard. Also, let's try not to die."

* * *

They made their way across the entrance hall, through a sitting room and all the way to the stairs leading up without running into any opposition. They did, however, come across the lifeless body of a woman dressed as a maid at the foot of the stairs. This one hadn't been killed with as much finesse as the guard outside. The lace of her apron was stained red with her blood.

"Tiefling! Stop tryin' ter fill yer pockets!"

Khelgar tried hard to keep his voice down, but his dwarven brawl didn't lend itself to such a thing. Instead of a whisper, it resembled a low growl that made Neeshka jump back from the door she'd been inching towards. Brianna watched as she fingered the lockpicking tool in her hand, looking only slightly guilty.

"Come on, this is such an opportunity!" Neeshka protested.

"We haven't got the time," Brianna pointed out, and at this precise moment, as though to underline her words, they heard a dull thumping sound from upstairs. Neeshka pouted.

Brianna mouthed 'later' to the other girl, who looked slightly mollified and hooked her tool back onto her belt, next to the assortment of things she seemed to have collected during the time she'd been gone.

They stepped over the corpse and made their way up the stairs after Khelgar, and just as Brianna cleared the last step, a warning shout rang out. She barely managed to raise her sword before a man and a woman dressed in leathers were upon them.

They weren't well-trained, more than likely just scouts. It wasn't a very long fight, thanks to Neeshka's sneaking up behind Brianna's opponent and plunging her dagger into the woman's neck. The man, who was fighting Khelgar, didn't last long, crowded by the three of them.

The thumping sound continued. Now that they were closer to it, Brianna thought it sounded rather like an axe on wood. Like someone was trying to get through a door, or through some sort of barricade.

She approached the doorway the sound seemed to be coming from. Motioning for Khelgar and Neeshka to stay back, she inched forward, keeping a wary eye out for more possible attackers.

A crossbow bolt promptly embedded itself in the biceps of her sword arm.

She cried out and threw herself backwards, scrambling for cover just as another bolt hit the door frame. Neeshka pulled her back against the wall, and she sat, swearing under her breath as colorfully as she knew how.

_I'm a damned idiot. Of course they'd know we're here, with all the noise we made. And they had plenty of time to prepare for me stepping into that room, too._

"Here, let me." Neeshka knelt next to her, healing kit in hand. She plucked at the fabric that covered Brianna's upper arm around the hole the bolt had made, and pulled a face.

"Ugh, acid. That's got to sting."

"It does," Brianna admitted through gritted teeth.

While Neeshka doctored her arm, she finished berating herself and tried to think of a way to approach the situation. There was no question that they had to get into that room somehow, but she was at a loss as to how they could accomplish it.

"Any ideas?" she finally asked her companions.

Neeshka was nearly finished covering up the entry wound with a cool paste that soaked up most of the sting. The tiefling tilted her head.

"I _may_ have one," she said in a low voice, sounding reluctant.

Brianna raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"I can sort of… make it go dark for a short while," Neeshka elaborated. "Another ancestry bonus."

Brianna stared. "How do you mean, dark?"

"Really, really pitch-black dark in the room. Won't last long, but they won't be able to see anything for long enough so we can make it through the door. Problem is, of course, you wouldn't be able to see anything, either."

_By Cyric's blood, that cursed lack of darkvision again._

""I suppose if I move quickly and take out whoever's got that crossbow, you could come in after the spell lifts," Neeshka thought out loud. "Bit of an insane plan though, you know. We don't even know how many of them are in there."

_Yeah, welcome to my world of never having a damn choice in the matter._

"Do it," she told Neeshka.

She heard surprised yelps from inside the room as soon as the unnatural darkness descended. Neeshka and Khelgar plunged through the doorway into the swirly mass of black without hestation, leaving her to wait and hope that the two of them were fighting harder than they ever had before. Their advantage was bound to fade just as soon as everyone could see again.

There were two screams in close succession, then some sort of a choked gargling sound. Much sooner than Brianna had hoped, light came flooding back through the doorway. She raised her sword with her good left arm, silently thanking Cormick for his insistence that she train with her left as well as her right hand, and entered the fresh battlefield.

Two men were laying on the floor, both of them bleeding and dying. Another was cowered in a corner, surrounded by a cloud of greenish dust and coughing his lungs out. Neeshka was dodging a bearded man's sword, and Khelgar had his hands full, facing three men at once and deflecting blow after blow with his shield. Brianna started moving across the room to help him, but before she'd gotten three steps far, the tip of a rapier just about pierced her midsection.

She twirled in an attempt to evade it, but while the movement might have saved her life, it wasn't enough to evade the weapon entirely. There were two dull popping sounds as her armor was pierced just above her hip, front, then back, but she didn't feel anything until she finally managed to bring her sword up and the rapier was pulled back. Even then, her side only stung a bit.

The woman she now turned to face was thin and wiry, and wearing a decidedly self-assured smirk. Her stance and the way she held her weapon were enough to trigger the alarm bells in Brianna's head as she realized that this woman had vastly more experience in combat than the average thug she had faced up until now.

Ste stumbled back as attacks were suddenly coming at her with dizzying speed. Somewhere to her right, Neeshka was yelping with pain, but she didn't have a chance to check whether the tiefling was alright, couldn't afford to take her eyes off the expertly wielded weapon that kept coming at her. Steel clashed with steel, and Brianna grit her teeth and tried to ignore the cramping of the muscles in her weaker left arm.

_Focus. Improvise. Think of something, or she'll sink that thing to the hilt._

She tried to analyze the situation while still remaining alert to the fight. It was obvious that, just like Cormick had taught her, the woman she was facing was used to beating opponents with her speed. Worse, Brianna realized as she barely prevented tripping over a fallen chair, her opponent was playing with her. Maneuvering her around, trying to get her to make an obvious, lethal mistake.

Another attack parried, and then another, and Brianna tried once again for a counter and failed, but the woman seemed to take personal offense to her even trying and snarled viciously, mouth pressed into a thin line. Brianna felt a pearl of sweat running down the side of her face and resisted the temptation to wipe it away.

_Something's going to have to happen to turn this in my favor, or else she'll tire of this game and find a weakness and cut me down like nothing._

Something appeared in form of a dart to the face.

She watched, dumbstruck as the tiny object pierced the woman's cheek, and her opponent gave a gasp of pain and surprise and clawed at it with her free hand until she was able to rip it away. Brianna used her distraction for a series of offensive swings, and while the woman parried each one, her movements were slowed almost imperceptibly.

_Poison._

It had to have been Neeshka who had thrown the dart, so the tiefling wasn't out of the fight. Encouraged, Brianna risked one more attack before she was forced back into a defensive position. The woman's eyes were blazing with fury now, and even though her body seemed to be moving more sluggishly, Brianna knew that she was still far too dangerous to take lightly.

Another attempt at a counter, and this time, it worked. Brianna guided her sword underneath her opponent's arm, and even though she managed only a nick to the upper arm, it felt like a triumph.

But the woman appeared to be sick of fighting fairly. Brianna's eyes registered the movement, the free hand dropping to the belt and grasping something, and even though she knew what was coming her reflexes weren't good enough to save her when a bottle was flung at her feet and exploded.

She managed to shield her face. The rest of her was doused in acid.

The woman laughed.

Brianna simply refused to consider what had just happened, and while the damned bitch was giggling at her shock and allowing herself a moment of inattentiveness, she lunged forward and sank her blade into a conveniently exposed thigh.

Her lower body began to tingle, then burn. She couldn't stop the tears from falling, tried to keep her vision clear and failed.

_Have to finish her now, while I can still think. Otherwise she'll do it to me._

The woman had sunk to one knee, but she was still in the fight. Brianna tried to look for another weakness, but the pain was making things go foggy. She blinked. The rapier was coming at her in a sideways arc, and her muscles reacted.

She derailed the other weapon upwards with her own and followed through, crashing her blade down and cutting through armor, breaking the woman's collarbone.

A grunt of pain was her reward. Her opponent pitched forward, tried to catch herself with her hands and only barely succeeded. Brianna stumbled forward and slipped her blade in between two ribs.

_Finally._

Then she sank to the floor herself as her body remembered being in agony and shook so bad that her sword slipped from her grasp. She couldn't see very well, but it appeared that nobody else in the room was moving any more.

_So now we're all dying, are we?_

_At least I took her down with me._

_Or maybe she took me down with her. Whichever._

Things went dark.


	22. Turmoil

**Turmoil**

The face hovering above hers was that of an angel, glowing, and surrounded by some golden halo. Little sparks were illuminating the air around the vision. She watched them for a little while, entranced.

She was dimly aware that something seemed to be happening to her body. There was no longer a connection between her and said body, however, so she did not perceive it as a problem. She was just floating in nothingness, watching golden sparks. It was the embodiment of peace.

Without warning, reality returned, and it felt like a rough impact. Like meeting the ground after diving off a moderately tall cliff, for instance. She felt tethered to her body again as the feeling rushed back into her extremities, and then she blinked and realized that the angel hovering above her was in fact a rather tense-looking half elf with admittedly lovely blond hair.

"Hello," she said, still dazed.

"Hello," he replied in a very pleasant voice and promptly stated the obvious. "You're awake." He looked at her as though he wasn't expecting it to last.

She blinked at him. "What happened?" she asked. "I thought I was dying." Since that obviously wasn't the case, she felt a bit silly admitting it.

"I think the pain got to you. Acid is nasty like that." He regarded her with thoughtful eyes.

Another face pushed itself into her field of vision and nudged the half-elf aside.

"Welcome back, Bree." That was Neeshka, and she was grinning. "Here, drink this. Filched it from one of the bodies. Should pick you right up."

Mint and rotten eggs filled her mouth. She gulped the potion down obediently.

Neeshka and the half-elf helped her sit up, and she used this opportunity to take a look around.

They were still in the room they had fought in, and the bodies were still strewn around the floor. Khelgar was sitting next to a door with a very large hole in it, sans armor, nursing an injured shoulder and a wound in his calf.

"What exactly happened?" she found herself asking.

"Weeell…" Neeshka waved her hand around airily. "I, um, was briefly out of commission, and then you decided to go to sleep for a while, and Khelgar took care of all the other thugs but he was bleeding pretty bad, so Fihelis here stepped in and helped out."

Aha. So the half-elf was who they'd been sent to protect.

"You're coming to the Watch with me," Brianna informed him, and tried to get up. A try was all it ended up being.

"Might want to wait until you can stand on your own two feet," Neeshka advised. Brianna considered glaring at the other girl, but realized it might have been a tad harsh after Neeshka had just put her life on the line in the name of Brianna's Watch assignment, so she settled for sticking her tongue out. Neeshka's grin widened.

"I thought you were going to look worse," the tiefling remarked, and Brianna's attention snapped to her legs, where acid had shredded her leggings from the thigh down. "That stuff she threw was pretty strong. I'm not sure what you did to be so acid resistant, but it worked."

"I didn't do anything," she admitted, and examined the skin in question under the thick cream that had been applied to it. Neeshka was right. There were blisters, reddened patches and raised welts all over, but it had felt worse than it was. "I thought it was taking my skin off. It hurt like the hells."

"Yeah." Neeshka moved away from her in order to hand Khelgar another healing potion, which the dwarf downed. Brianna tried once more, carefully, to get to her feet and succeeded.

"Bitch," she spat in the direction of the corpse of the woman she had fought. Seeing the wiry body lifeless and unmoving brought Brianna no little amount of satisfaction.

"Yes," Fihelis agreed, surprising her. "Though she might net you a promotion."

"I just got promoted," Brianna replied before she even really considered her words. "Why do you say that?"

Fihelis tilted his head, giving her a thorough look and then returning his gaze to the dead woman.

"I thought you knew." He nodded towards the corpse. "That's Moire."

* * *

At least, Brianna reflected once they were back at headquarters, the complete and utter soreness she was experiencing had been worth it if she had, without realizing it, taken out the head of the gang that had burned down the Watch building in the docks and caused them so many problems lately.

Word was spreading as she sat in the hallway by Captain Brelaina's office, waiting for her debriefing. Watchmen kept poking their head around the corners just to stare at her, and she kept hearing her name being spoken along with that of the woman she had killed. She didn't find the attention enjoyable, so she kept her focus on Khelgar, talking quietly with the dwarf.

Eventually, the door opened and Fihelis appeared. The merchant looked tired and worn, but he gave Brianna a friendly not and held the door for her.

She saluted before Brelaina. The captain was sitting at an extraordinarily messy desk and looked tired as well. There was no one else in the room this time around, and as the door fell closed, Brianna felt scrutinized by the woman's steely eyes.

"Well, Lieutenant," Brelaina said finally with a very slight smile. "You gave us quite a pleasant surprise."

She didn't know what to say. This was much easier with Cormick, whom she could read like a book, unlike Brelaina. Brianna wasn't even certain whether or not the woman liked her at all.

"Fihelis has told me all about the fight," the woman continued, "and I will have a talk about the mission with you as well, once there is time. But for now let me say that what you did was impressive, and I am glad not to have been disappointed."

Brianna nodded, still mute.

"Marshal Cormick made a recommendation for your next assignment, and I intend to follow it."

Brianna straightened up at once.

_Blacklake, at last? It's not like I haven't earned it, risking my life for this damned city. _

"I'm sending you to Old Owl Well," Brelaina said then, and Brianna found it suddenly very difficult to breathe.

"What?"

She knew her face was showing shock, and her voice was high-pitched, but she couldn't help it.

"Old Owl Well, Lieutenant. At the foot of the Sword Mountains." If Brelaina noticed how disconcerted she was by the news, the captain didn't show it.

"That," Brianna said, still trying very hard to control her breathing, "isn't even anywhere _near_ Neverwinter."

"Nevertheless, it is an important location," Brelaina said coolly, her hands leafing through the paperwork on her desk. "Neverwinter has committed most of its greycloaks to retaking the well from the orcs. If they are successful, we will have a safer trade route, and by extension this will cut back on the smuggling and thieving that is still far too prevalent in the docks."

"I don't see what the City Watch has to do with all of that." Brianna made a monumental effort not to sound as pissed off as she felt.

_I'm going to kill you with my bare hands, Cormick. I don't know why you did this to me, but I swear I'll choke the life right out of you as soon as I find you._

"An emissary from Waterdeep on his way to Neverwinter has recently vanished in the region. You are to serve alongside the greycloaks until the emissary has been found or his fate determined, at which time you'll either escort him to Neverwinter or bring me proof of his death."

A slender hand held out several pieces of parchment, and Brianna stared for a good few seconds before she realized that she was supposed to take them.

"These are for Commander Callum, who leads the efforts at Old Owl Well. There is a contingent of greycloaks leaving for the Sword Mountains tomorrow, and I want you to travel with them."

"But…"

"I do not have time for pointless arguing, Lieutenant." The captain's tone was decisive. "Use the time to prepare yourself and your… associates for the journey."

It was the first time Brelaina had even acknowledged that she had help in her duties. At another time, Brianna might have found this mildly interesting, but at the moment her head was in too much turmoil for her to even think straight.

"I'd like to talk to Cormick," she found herself saying.

Brelaina regarded her for a moment and then got up from behind her desk.

"The marshal is on assignment, Lieutenant." Her tone was icy as she opened the door, and Brianna knew she was dismissed.

* * *

"I'm fucked," she told Duncan as she slid onto a stool by the bar. "I'm really really fucked." She put her head down onto the counter and did not move until she heard the sound of a mug being set down beside her.

"Bad day?" Duncan asked.

"I killed Moire."

The look of complete disbelief on his face brought her a small bit of joy she sorely needed. She didn't often do anything that impressed people.

"Seriously," she assured him. "She's dead. Put up a good fight, too. I'll have scars on my legs."

_Great. That makes it sound like I fought the world's tiniest woman._

Duncan reached out and took her hands in his.

"But that's wonderful," he commented, still looking startled. "Isn't it?"

"Well, yes." She lowered her head. "I felt good about it right up until the part where Brelaina assigned me to go on a suicidal orc-killing mission in the Sword Mountains for a reward."

"She… what?"

"Orc killing. Sword Mountains." Brianna extracted her hands from his and took a large gulp from her mug. "_Now_ do you understand why I'm fucked?"

"But that's not even in Neverwinter! I thought the city watch was responsible for, well, the city." He seemed startled, and a bit troubled by the news.

"Yeah, I brought that up, too." Brianna shrugged, feeling utterly resigned. "And the worst thing is that it was on Cormick's recommendation, so instead of helping he's suddenly hindering me, and damned if I know why."

"Did you do something to make him upset, lass?"

Brianna considered that for a moment.

_I don't really see how he could be mad about having gotten laid. If anything, I should be mad at him. Unless he was upset I left? No, he couldn't have been. We weren't supposed to be doing this in the first place, he can hardly blame me…_

"No," she said out loud. "I didn't do anything."

Her uncle seemed to contemplate this for a moment. Brianna leaned to the side, one elbow propped onto the counter, and scanned the room.

"Neeshka back yet?" she asked. Duncan shook his head.

"I thought she was with you."

"She had some… business to take care of." Brianna took another sip of her ale. She wasn't about to give him a clue as to the nature of Neeshka's business, though he could probably make a decent guess anyway. As soon as they had departed Fihelis' estate with the half-elven merchant in tow, Neeshka had left it to her and Khelgar to play escort and had vanished in the shadows.

Brianna did hope Neeshka was alright. She was a bit surprised to discover that she felt almost protective of the tiefling after her prolonged absence. Brianna still didn't know what had kept Neeshka away for so long, but they would have plenty of time to talk on the way to the Sword Mountains.

The thought alone made her sick.

_I don't understand. I just don't. Cormick knows how damn important this is to me, and he had my back, damn it, and yet he gets me assigned to the most unthankful task I could have imagined._

It was beyond frustrating, especially when she'd thought that the marshal wasn't all that hard to figure out. She'd even trusted him, blast it all.

Someone poked her shoulder, and she spun around so fast she nearly fell of her stool.

"Gods, Neesh, don't do that!"

She did put her arms briefly around the other girl without even thinking about it, and something heavy landed in her lap.

"Good haul," Neeshka grinned. "And I got something else for you, but you'll get it later."

"Oh." Brianna was startled that the tiefling would display such generosity, but rather pleased as well. After all, she was the one who'd get in trouble if it ever got out that she'd allowed Neeshka to rob a place they'd been to on business. After the way the Watch had treated her today though, she was glad for a little triumph, a little defiance.

"So, we'll be on the road tomorrow, huh?" Neeshka waved for Duncan to fill her a mug, which he did. The fact that she'd said 'we' put a small smile on Brianna's face.

"Yeah," she said. "You ever been to the mountains?"

"Hells, no." Neeshka wore a look of distaste. "Too many rocks, not enough people with coin in their pockets. You might want to talk to the dwarf though. He's sure to love them, being a dwarf and all."

Brianna nodded. "I'll keep it in mind. We should stop by Sand's later, and I need to see if someone can fix my armor up before tomorrow." She paused and sighed, running her hand through her hair. "I should go pack. And so should you."

She didn't particularly enjoy travel preparations, but the fact that she was preparing to go _away_ from where she needed to be and _toward_ a place she hadn't the slightest desire to be at made her feel downright awful about getting all of her things together.

"Are you going to finish that?" Duncan asked, pointing at her half-full mug as she slid off her stool.

"Later," she told him. "I've got to go fold my undershirts."

* * *

She didn't return to the taproom until the late evening, when she had folded her few clothes, stowed everything she might need in the mountains away in her pack, and rifled through the pouch Neeshka had given her. The tiefling had apparently been quite successful in her little heist, and Brianna had eyed the mixture of gold, silver, copper and several small gems appreciatively.

The room was rather crowded and lively when she entered, and Duncan was nowhere in sight, so she used the moment to make her way to the far corner where Bishop was sitting as he usually did, drinking, and dropped the pouch with the money she'd counted out onto the table.

He glanced up at her with a smirk she wished she could have slapped off his face.

"I don't have to count this, do I?" His voice was low, but his tone challenging.

"I hope you choke on your ale," she said, finding a rare moment of courage, and turned away before he could reply.

A raucous cheer erupted by the fireplace. Brianna's eyes searched and found Qara, who was approaching the loudest group of sailors while carrying a full tray. The red-headed girl was looking even more sullen and pissed-off than usual, but, Brianna reflected when one of the sailors, a young but bald fellow, reached out to pat the girl's rump, for once she had a bit of sympathy for the sorceress. Qara whirled around, tray still in hand, and liquid slopped everywhere.

"You do that again and I'll set you on fire," she snarled at the man with barely suppressed fury.

_Uh oh. Duncan won't be happy if this escalates, and I wouldn't even blame her if it does._

The sailors erupted with laughter. Brianna edged closer, not certain what she could do to diffuse this. As usual she had her concealed dagger on her, but she couldn't very well go around and murder patrons. Qara was setting down drinks with enough force that the dishes shook on the table. Then the sorceress turned and marched back to the kitchen without any further outbursts, and the attention of the sailors wandered elsewhere.

Brianna let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Overly friendly bunch, aren't they?" That was Neeshka's voice, and she turned and watched the tiefling sidle closer. "If something happens, leave it to Khelgar. He's itching for a fight."

She pointed towards the far end of the bar, where the dwarf was sitting and drinking. He seemed relaxed enough, but Brianna noticed that he appeared to be paying very close attention to what went on by the fireplace. Brianna was glad to see it.

"How early do we have to leave tomorrow anyway?" Neeshka asked. "I've got some business yet to take care of."

"What, fencing even more stuff?" Brianna raised her eyebrows. "How much _did_ you steal from Fihelis' place? I told you not to overdo it."

Neeshka waved that away. "Don't worry, he probably won't even miss what I took. No, I just have to go back one more time to pick up some of the things I asked for. So when are we leaving?"

"Pretty early. You won't have much time, I don't think. But, Neeshka, just tell me…"

A shriek interrupted her, and her attention snapped back to the table with the sailors. Qara was struggling in a rather undignified manner against the bald sailor who had apparently just pulled her into his lap.

"Mighty uppity for a tavern wench, arencha?" he asked her, laughing.

"Oh shit," Brianna muttered, and took a step towards the scene.

The fireplace exploded.

There were screams as the men who'd been sitting closest were enveloped by flames. The fire shrunk back as fast as it had erupted, leaving them singed.

"You bitch!" one of them yelled and jumped to his feet. Qara, who had by this time mostly extracted herself from the first man's grip, sprayed flames into his face.

"Get her!" another sailor howled. Just as the largest of the bunch, one bearded fellow with a braid, had grasped a fistful of Qara's robe, there was an enthusiastic battlecry, and a dwarf using a bar stool for a battering ram charged squarely into the group.

"Oh, _shit_," Brianna said again. She was rooted to the spot by some morbid fascination.

Qara had meanwhile managed to escape the group with the aid of Sal, the bartender, who had hurried to help her. The sorceress fled to the safety that was the space behind the bar, but once she was there, her eyes narrowed dangerously and she began to cast again. Brianna had no doubt that she wasn't concerned about the place catching on fire at this point.

So she sprinted towards Qara and launched herself at the girl.

They both landed on the floor rather heavily. Brianna took a bony elbow to the gut and spent a few seconds trying to breathe again. During this time, Qara had gotten to her knees and was staring down at Brianna.

"_You_," the sorceress said with contempt, "are _not_ going to stop me from teaching these pigs a lesson."

Brianna tried to reply, but that was tricky when she had no breath to do so. Qara was back on her feet with surprising speed, and she was running before Brianna managed to finally suck her lungs full of air.

"By Tyr's right buttock," she utilized one of Khelgar's favorite curses on her first full breath, and used the bar to pull herself up to a standing position.

Furniture was flying. Sal rolled around on the floor with the bald man, trading blows. Neeshka was trying to kick someone in the crotch who had grabbed her tail. One of the sailors was already out of commission, draped over the back of a chair like a dirty shirt. Brianna watched with fascination as Khelgar launched himself enthusiastically off a table and headbutted the large bearded man with the braid before landing a punch on the second man he was taking on.

"Oh shit," Brianna repeated, because it seemed to be the only fitting thing, and then her eyes finally found Qara. The girl had just made the fireplace erupt once more and now seemed to be casting something much more complicated.

_Stupid bull-headed spoiled little pyromaniac_, Brianna grumbled in her mind, because by then she was running again and trying to save her breath.

Qara was too intent on finishing her spell to attempt to evade her. The girl stumbled and barely caught herself when Brianna smacked into her. Magic erupted from her fingertips and fizzled.

"You _bitch_!" she exclaimed, obviously frustrated at having lost her spell, and shoved Brianna away hard.

Brianna stumbled backwards, tripped, and just when she realized that she was probably going to crack her head open on the wooden floor, she collided with someone and found herself caught by a pair of strong arms.

She looked upwards and stared, with blank horror, into Bishop's face.

"Well now, haven't you gotten friendly all of a sudden, swamp girl" he murmured into her ear.

She tried to twist away from him, but it was made tricky by the fact that she was still halfway bent over backwards, not to mention that his arms were clamped around her in an iron grip. He had a grin on his face and was obviously finding some amusement in the situation.

"Let me go," she demanded, teeth clenched.

He shrugged, and did.

She crashed to the floor and saw stars.

When her vision returned, he was gone. Trying to ignore the pounding at the back of her skull where in all likelihood a large lump was forming, she rolled over and got to her feet.

It was lucky she'd tripped in a corner and not the middle of the floor, because she would have been squashed within seconds by what was looking increasingly like a free-for-all. Khelgar was still in the middle of it all, probably enjoying himself immensely. Neeshka, who was very literally being led by the horns by the sailor she'd been fighting, seemed less happy about her situation.

Brianna considered her options for a moment, then snatched Bishop's empty mug from the nearby table and intercepted the tiefling and her opponent. The man collapsed to the floor like a sack of flour when hard clay met his head.

"Hey thanks," Neeshka gasped, rubbed her horns, and stooped to take the man's coin purse. "Stupid jerk had an unhealthy fascination with tiefling anatomy."

"No problem." Brianna's eyes wandered back to the chaos on the floor almost involuntarily. "Duncan's going to have a fit."

"He'll probably make Qara clean it up." Neeshka seemed supremely unconcerned with the destruction.

Something occurred to Brianna. "Speaking of, where'd she go?"

"Uh…"

They both looked around, frantically, until Brianna finally spotted the girl, who had just climbed atop a table, heavy boots firmly planted on the wooden surface, and was casting again.

"Oh, shit," Brianna said for the fourth time that evening.

They ducked as a cloud of fire exploded above their heads. Sparks rained down on them and left singe marks everywhere.

"The rafters are burning," Neeshka pointed out.

They were indeed. Just as Brianna looked up, however, the flames flickered and went out.

A huge wave of water crashed down upon them all.

It took only a split second for Brianna to be completely drenched, along with everyone else. The fighting slowed then as several of the combatants looked up in confusion.

"What happened? Did the sorceress burn the roof down?" Khelgar demanded to know, looking around wildly.

"Hardly," a familiar voice replied smugly.

What had in fact happened, Brianna realized as she turned around, was that Duncan had apparently done the only thing he could think of to stop both the fighting and Qara from burning down the place, and gotten Sand. She wasn't sure how he'd managed to make his way to the shop and back so fast, but they were both standing in the doorway now. Duncan had put an appropriately thunderous expression on his face.

"Now then." Sand put the tips of his fingers together and surveyed the room. "Let me point out right now that anyone attempting to continue this altercation will find themselves compelled to tap dance around the room until their feet bleed, so I would not recommend trying."

The room fell very silent very quickly.

Duncan seemed to be taking the amount of destruction in stride.

"Right," he said, arms crossed before his chest, glaring at everyone equally. "Everyone who hasn't got a room, out with you, and don't forget to pay what you owe or else you'll find yourself dancing after all."

The floor emptied after that. Men collected their belongings, which in some cases included teeth, and very slowly trickled out the door. Brianna, who was watching impassively with her arms wrapped around her body, suddenly broke out in itchy shivers and looked down her own body to find that she was dry again.

"Thanks," she nodded at Sand, who was busy doing the same for Neeshka.

"My pleasure," he replied with a thin smile.

"You alright, lass?" That was Duncan, who had stopped glaring just long enough to give Brianna a thorough look.

She nodded and briefly closed her eyes, feeling the exhaustion settle in her body now that the excitement was over. "Yeah, thanks. Sorry about the fire. I did try to keep her from casting."

"Don't worry about it." Duncan stepped closer. "I'll ask a favor of you, though."

"Hm?"

"When you leave tomorrow, take Qara with you. Take her away for a while. Let her exhaust all that excess magical energy on the orcs."

She opened her mouth to protest, but to her surprise found herself considering it.

"You know, that's not even a bad idea," she finally admitted. "Out in the mountains she might not do so much collateral damage every time she torches something. And I could use a mage. Just don't expect me to enjoy her company."

The corner of Duncan's mouth twitched.

"That'd take a miracle," he agreed. "Now, off to bed with you. You'll need your strength tomorrow." He waved his arm in a gesture that seemed somewhat helpless. "I'll get this here mess cleaned up."

Spontaneously, she put her arms around him for a hug.

"Expect an early morning visit," she told Sand then. "I'll be needing potions before I leave."

"I can hardly wait," the moon elf replied in a tone that had about five layers of meaning too many for her to decipher at the moment.

"I'm sure," she nodded, then yawned, realized she was going to feel like hell when she woke up, and without another word turned and made for her bed.


	23. Distance

**Distance**

They left with the first glimpse of daylight the next morning, taking the eastern road inland. Their group was an interesting one, consisting of eight greycloaks, a watchwoman, a dwarf, a tiefling and one crabby looking sorceress.

Brianna had woken with a headache she wouldn't have wished on her worst enemy. The throbbing pain dissipated soon after they had actually gotten going, however. She appreciated the cold morning air and steady pace, and it didn't take long before she was able to let her mind go blank and simply enjoy not having to think anymore. The events of the past several days had been so exhausting, so emotionally draining. While she still didn't like where she was headed, each step away from Neverwinter seemed symbolic for the distance she created within her own mind, distance between herself and everything she'd been through as of late.

They all walked mile after mile in silence. The greycloaks, three of which appeared to be younger than Brianna and fresh as the morning dew, seemed to have their minds on the task ahead. Frowns occasionally appeared on their faces when Brianna glanced at one or another, and she didn't blame them for worrying. She didn't know what exactly awaited them at Old Owl Well any more than they did, but the fact that, during the past month or so, Neverwinter had sent nearly every available greycloak to the mountains spoke volumes. If they needed that large a force to keep the trade route clear, they were likely to see battle.

Her eyes wandered to Khelgar. The dwarf didn't have much breath to spare for talking. Their pace was brisk, and his short legs had to work hard match the rest of them. He did keep up, but had to expand a lot of energy to do so.

Qara seemed to have even more trouble matching the pace despite her longer legs. Small wonder, Brianna mused, as the only physical exercise she'd ever seen the sorceress undertake was the lifting of a beverage tray and the rounds she made through the taproom when she worked. Qara wasn't frail, but she was spoiled and she'd spent far too much time of her life being waited on.

"You look thoughtful," a voice remarked close to her. Brianna turned her head and regarded the tiefling, who had just fallen into step beside her.

"I was just thinking that I don't mind leaving as much as I should," she admitted. "After everything that's been happening lately, it's nice to get away for a bit."

"Hmph. Really?" Neeshka made no attempt to hide her skepticism. "I thought you'd still be itching to give Cormick a good kick in his tender bits after he screwed you over like that."

Brianna lowered her head and observed the dust her boots were kicking up with every step. Cormick was still a bit of a sore topic. She was confused by his actions more than anything, and she lacked the experience with this sort of thing to figure him out.

"I slept with him."

She had no idea why she felt compelled to tell Neeshka. Maybe it was because the tiefling had helped her out before, and she knew that this was something she couldn't get to the bottom of on her own. Maybe it didn't feel like such a big deal because Neeshka already knew she'd been with someone that night, before returning to the Sunken Flagon.

"Oh." Neeshka scrunched up her nose, her voice now as low as Brianna's own. "Well…"

"Just once. Two nights ago. I know it was stupid." Brianna bit her lip, still staring at the ground.

"Hm. Okay. Give me a moment to wrap my head around that." Neeshka raised her hands and scratched both of her horns simultaneously. "I didn't think he was your type."

"He's…" Brianna tried for an adequate response to that statement, and failed. "I have no idea," she confessed eventually.

"You don't know whether you like him or not?"

"Things just sort of… happened."

"Hm," Neeshka said again, which unnerved Brianna. She hadn't expected Neeshka to be so cagey on this matter, and she didn't think she could stand it.

"Look, just forget I said anything."

"Oh, no. No." Neeshka reached out and touched her forearm in what might have been considered a reassuring gesture. "Hells, I've slept with people I liked far less than 'I don't know'. And for far worse reasons too."

"Really?" Brianna asked, surprised. She tore her eyes from the ground and focused on the tiefling.

"Yeah, really." Neeshka didn't appear to be very concerned by the matter, so Brianna allowed herself to relax just a bit.

"What reasons?" It seemed an intrusive question, but she asked it anyway.

"Well…" Neeshka sighed, but at that precise moment, one of the greycloaks turned his head and threw them a curious glance.

As though by silent agreement, both girls slowed their steps until they had fallen behind the rest of the group enough to be able to talk freely. Neeshka took a very deep breath.

"I told you I was out on the streets of Neverwinter for a while, right? Just helping myself to whatever people were carrying, sleeping in a different place every night. Sometimes that wasn't enough though, especially in the winters. So I earned money any way I could. Man will pay even for a girl with horns and a tail." She shrugged, as though trying to say that it was no big deal. "I survived, you know, but it wasn't a great life."

Brianna was stunned into silence.

"That was before I met Leldon though. It was better after that."

"Leldon?"

"He took me in. He had clothes and food and money and a nice, soft bed, and I didn't know any better, so I thought it was all perfect and wonderful."

Brianna's lips curved in a bitter smile. She knew only too well how alluring this sort of illusion was, how tempting it was to let go of reality and imagine everything was going to be alright. And how much it hurt when it all came crashing down.

"I'm guessing that didn't last long?"

Neeshka shrugged. "It did for a while, actually. He started teaching me how to do more than just pick pockets, and that's when I started making my own money, breaking into places and stuff. Then I became his partner, and that lasted until he realized I'd gotten good enough to pick locks he couldn't. He didn't like that too much."

The tiefling sighed deeply. Brianna very much wanted to know what had happened next, but there was one question she needed to ask first.

"You slept with him, then?"

"Yeah," Neeshka replied, it a tone that Brianna found difficult to interpret.

"Wasn't it awful? Going to bed with him all the time?"

"Huh? Oh, no, not at all." Neeshka looked startled. "Leldon's a bit of an idiot, but he was actually pretty fun, you know?"

"No," Brianna said honestly.

She found herself studied by a pair of deep red tiefling eyes for several long moments. Then, a sly grin appeared on Neeshka's face.

"Not that I saw much of that marshal of yours, but that certainly seems a devastating testament of his ability to please a girl."

"He was drunk." Brianna wasn't sure why she suddenly felt the need to defend Cormick, of all things.

"Oh. Oh boy." Neeshka was back to looking thoughtful. "I know what that's like, let me tell you. Nothing like a man with his brain too foggy to figure out where to put his thing, and then they take forever and grope you in all the wrong spots and it's just three sorts of ick!" She shuddered, but the corners of her mouth were twitching upwards. "Think he might have been so embarrassed about it he didn't want you around to remind him of his performance?"

"Maybe." Brianna was more than surprised to find herself wanting to mirror the tiefling's grin. Neeshka's cheerful attitude was compelling.

"So it isn't usually like that, then?" She had to ask the question, _had_ to know how typical or atypical her feelings were. Before Cormick, she'd had nothing to go by except for misery and terror, and that expression she had seen on Amie's face after her friend had been with Bevil. Those two things had been so incompatible that she had found herself at a loss.

"Oh, it can be pretty fun, if you can find a man who knows what he's doing. And that's rarer that you'd think." Neeshka rolled her eyes. "Most of them think they do, but then you get them into bed and it's a disaster. Ugh, the stories I could tell you!"

And then she began to tell them.

Brianna spent the next several miles listening with growing fascination as Neeshka chronicled her encounters with men. She'd never before thought of sleeping with a man as something remotely amusing. Neeshka, however, seemed to find it hilarious.

She had a lot to think about once evening came around and they made camp by a grove of birch trees.

Not until this point had Brianna fully realized how beneficial it could be to travel in a larger group. A fire was built and the latrine dug before she could blink. That left her enough time to go through her drills before the light faded, so she found a spot between the trees, drew her sword and began.

Her body was sluggish and worn out, but not from walking. She'd pushed herself as far as she could, twice in as many days, and still wasn't fully recovered from the ordeal. On top of that, the events had led to her neglecting her drills. Her muscles protested with every move. It was a strain not to break form, not to let her sword arm sag or drop the blade once her arm began to shake under the weight of her weapon.

The greycloaks weren't paying her much attention. She was glad for it, because her form was embarrassing. Still, she forced herself to complete drill after drill until her arms were tired, and until she found herself hoping that nobody would ask her to do any more lifting that night.

Afterwards she sat on her bedroll and impassively watched the people around camp in the firelight. Two of the older greycloaks were working out a nightly watch shift order. The three young recruits appeared to be arguing about the best way to kill an orc, and listening with half an ear, Brianna determined that two of them had probably never even seen combat.

"Hey." Neeshka dropped down onto the ground beside her. The tiefling was grinning from ear to ear and holding a small leather pouch. "Remember I told you I had something for you?"

With the excitement of the bar brawl, Brianna had honestly forgotten about the other girl's words. She nodded anyway.

"I sold that rapier Moire put through you, just like you asked. Turns out it wasn't just magical, but _really_ magical. The fence I went to agreed to take it, but she didn't have enough gold or gems, so I did a little trading instead. Went back early this morning to pick this up for you."

Brianna took the pouch. Even through the leather she could feel the tingling of magic. She shook the pouch upside down and dumped a delicate golden necklace into her palm. From it dangled a small charm, golden as well, in the shape of an oak leaf.

"Oh," she said, fingering it. "That's beautiful."

"More than just that," Neeshka assured her. "See, it's got this little charm on it that I thought would come in handy since you insist on throwing yourself into combat all the time."

Brianna was about to protest that she rarely had a choice in the matter when she saw the sparkle of amusement in Neeshka's eyes. She made a face at the other girl.

"So what enchantment is this?" She held the fragile-looking charm dangling on the chain up to her face and studied it. The magic it radiated smelled of fallen leaves and reminded her of the bit of healing magic Daeghun possessed.

"When you fight, it toughens your skin. Makes it much more difficult for blades, or for anything really, to get through and hurt you."

"That _is_ handy." Brianna was pleasantly surprised, to the point where she wasn't sure what to say, except the obvious. "Thank you."

Neeshka, looking almost bashful, shrugged and pointed to the dagger on her belt.

"I got this for myself, too. Nice, huh?"

Brianna nodded and slipped the amulet around her neck, tucking it into her undershirt. The feeling of magic vanished as soon as it touched her skin. She was glad for that. It would have been annoying if the charm was constantly itching between her breasts.

"You know," she remarked, leaning back onto her pack, "you never finished your tale from earlier. What happened with you and Leldon."

"Ah, yes. That."

Neeshka dragged her own bedroll close and got comfortable. Brianna used the moment to take off her boots and begin unbuckling her armor.

"Well," the tiefling said then in a low voice, jumping right back into the story, "Leldon and I planned this heist. Pretty tricky business. Locks, traps, guards and dogs on the perimeter. It was his idea, but his plan was botched up, and I did most of the work anyway. Got us past the guards, past the traps and into the vault. It ended up being worth it though. Great loot."

"So what went wrong?"

"Nothing, at first. We got in, we took what we'd come for and pretty much everything else we could find, and back out we went. Then we got back to our hideout, and suddenly Leldon turned on me." Neeshka pressed her lips together, looking bitter. "Leaves the room for a moment, comes back with two more thugs, big, mean looking ones, and demands a bigger share because the whole thing was his idea. Not much I could do, you know?"

Brianna nodded. She knew only too well what it felt like to be helpless like that.

"He didn't just end up taking my share. He took everything I had." The blank fury in Neeshka's voice was unmistakable. "And I mean everything. Gold, tools, my clothes, even. Threw me out and told me to get the hells out of Neverwinter, or he'd put my horns on his trophy wall. I did leave, but I came back later and stole back most of my things, and some of what he owed me. And all of his underclothes. But then I figured I had better get away for a while, because he didn't take that well."

"That's how you ended up by Fort Locke." Brianna nodded to herself as the realization came. "I'd wondered why you would leave Neverwinter."

"Yes, exactly." Neeshka sighed and snuggled more tightly into her bedroll. "It was late summer last year when I left, and that wasn't so bad, but winter nearly killed me. I knew where to find the best warm places in the city, but out in the country, I wasn't so good at it. I really hate freezing." She shuddered.

"Where were you headed when we met you by Fort Locke?"

"Waterdeep," Neeshka replied. "But then I met you and we talked about Neverwinter, and, well, I got a little homesick. Besides, I figured maybe if I came back with reinforcements, Leldon wouldn't be bold enough to follow through on his threat. Foolish hope, I guess."

"He attacked you?" Brianna asked, startled.

"Well, not personally. But that day you came back to the Flagon wearing your watchcloak, just after I left, I ran into one of the thugs he keeps on leash. Bennon. Huge idiot with a haircut to match, but unfortunately he's a lot stronger than me, so I had to make a run for it. I would have come back to the Flagon, but I wasn't really sure whether you'd help me at that point. The whole Watch issue." She shrugged apologetically and glanced at Brianna, who gave the other girl a weak smile.

"Don't worry about it."

"Alright then. So to make a long story short, I just kept running and hiding for a while. Tried tracking Leldon down so I might be able to gain the upper hand, but I didn't manage to. All I found was a fence he's been selling to. I recognized a ring from the loot of that last heist we did when I was, uh, browsing the guy's inventory."

Brianna was torn between amusement and concern. "You were going to steal from a fence? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Well, maybe a little." Neeshka only now seemed to consider it. "But most of the people Leldon deals with are idiots. And besides, I wasn't just going to steal it, I _did_ steal it."

"Why?"

Neeshka paused, her lips curling up into a smile. "Quite a handy thing, that ring, especially for a rogue handling traps or mixing alchemical things. Fire and acid will barely put a scratch on you while you're wearing it. I wouldn't recommend walking through a bonfire or bathing in acid, but it's still rather nice to have around. I figured it might come in useful, so I took it. Afterwards I went back to the Flagon. You know the rest."

"So you still have it? That ring?" Brianna was surprised. She knew Neeshka wasn't wearing it, she would have spotted it otherwise.

"Had it," Neeshka corrected with a small sigh. "Gave it to that vile scum Bishop to buy his help. Oh well." She sounded a bit too deliberately casual.

Brianna contemplated this in silence.

"Neesh," she finally said. "I really owe you one."

"No you don't. You helped me out, I helped you out," Neeshka said practically. "Besides, I might be able to steal it back at some point."

"If you try, be careful," Brianna warned. "Duncan warned me of him. Probably for good reason. I wouldn't want him to catch you and cut off your tail or something."

Neeshla snorted at that. "There's parts of _him_ I'd like to cut off," the tiefling huffed.

"I'll help hold him down," Brianna offered darkly. Neeshka giggled.

For a while they lay next to each other in comfortable silence. Most of the rest of the group was in their bedrolls by now, and the guards on first shift appeared to be talking quietly on the other side of the camp. The fire was crackling and radiating warmth.

Brianna stared up at the sky and traced paths between stars in her mind. The night was a clear one, allowing her to spot even the faintest faraway glimmer.

"Bree," Neeshka whispered, breaking the silence. "How'd you get with child?"

Something tightened painfully inside her.

_I can't talk about it. Even to you. I just can't._

"Don't ask," she whispered back, trying not to sound like she was pleading. Neeshka gave a single nod and closed her eyes.

Brianna turned and stared into the fire for a long while.

Talking about what had happened with Cormick had made her feel surprisingly relieved, like she was sharing some great burden with Neeshka. She wasn't as freaked out about it now as she had been. It hadn't been the easiest thing in the world, and she wasn't used to talking to people about things her mind continually told her to keep inside. She had to admit though that it had helped a bit.

But Wyl?

No, she couldn't. She would never share that. This was different, a testament of her weakness and nothing more, a secret that should never be out in the open.

When she turned back, Neeshka appeared to be peacefully asleep, her face relaxed and her chest raising and sinking with long, even breaths. Brianna rolled to her back and wished fervently that she could accomplish the same, but it was a long time before sleep finally claimed her.


	24. Weariness

_Author's Note: I apologize for updates being so very infrequent lately. My place of employment closed, which means I've effectively lost my job and have spent most of my time lately preparing to be self-employed. It's been a very frustrating turn of events that hasn't left me with a whole lot of time to spend writing, though things are looking up. Hopefully I'll get back into the groove of things soon and updates will be more frequent again. _

* * *

**Weariness**

They reached Old Owl Well during the afternoon of their fifth day on the road.

The camp itself was less than Brianna had expected. It consisted almost entirely of the two dozen or so tents that lined the crumbling walls, along with a couple of makeshift shelters and two wooden guard towers that had been constructed on the bare rock. All in all, it wasn't exactly welcoming.

Most of the greycloaks they passed walking into the camp appeared to be busy hammering away at rocks and patching up holes in the walls. They were overseen by a sturdy-looking and fully armored dwarf. It was this dwarf that she was pointed towards when she asked for the commander, and she approached him wearily.

The skeptical look he gave her didn't help her confidence. She supposed she couldn't blame him though, she was neither tall nor muscular and probably didn't much look like the reinforcements he'd been hoping for. She was also being followed by a group that seemed altogether too random to be plausible.

"And who are you supposed to be?" he demanded to know once his attention had shifted from the men lugging around stones.

Brianna fumbled for the papers she was supposed to give him. "Are you Callum?" she asked to be sure.

"That's _Commander_ Callum to you." There was a definite edge in his voice that made her grit her teeth.

"Sorry, commander."

_Hells, yet another superior I'd better not piss off. This is never going to stop, is it?_

He took the papers from her and studied them more carefully than she had expected.

"City Watch, eh? Here for the emissary?"

"Yes, that's right." She knotted her fingers together behind her back. "I don't suppose he's shown up since I got my orders?"

"Haven't seen heel nor hair," Collum replied, sounding unconcerned. "And Waterdeep failed to tell us the exact route he would be taking, so even if we had the men to look for him we wouldn't know where to begin. Not much you'll be able to do but help around the camp and wait for a sign of him, or for new orders."

And that was that. Brianna had been aware of the nature of her assignment ever since she'd left Neverwinter, but hearing it so casually from Callum's mouth was like a subtly twisted knife in her gut. Stuck at Old Owl Well for an indefinite amount of time, with nothing to do but build walls, and fight orcs, and wait.

_Well at least I'll have plenty of time to come up with some exquisitely painful torture to inflict upon Cormick if I ever make it back to the city._

A female greycloak old enough to be Brianna's mother led them to the small cluster of tents that housed the females. There didn't appear to be many women in the camp, but rules were still being followed to the letter, so they had their own little section.

"Four to a tent," the greycloak woman told them. "This one over here's got an open spot, and that one's got two more."

"Four?" Qara repeated, and when Brianna turned to regard the girl she realized that the sorceress didn't just seem unhappy, but horrified at the prospect. "Are we supposed to pile up like kittens in those things?"

"I assume we'll be sleeping in shifts," Brianna pointed out the obvious. The greycloak nodded.

"Two of them, yes. You'll learn to sleep through the noise. There's one meal call each shift, means two meals a day for everyone. Keep your weapons on you always, and talk to Sergeant Martens for your assignment."

Qara was the first one to drop her pack on to the rocks with considerably more force than strictly necessary. "Oh, this sucks!"

"Sorry if you expected silk sheets and feather pillows," Brianna shrugged, and dropped her pack as well. She didn't like the situation any more than Qara did, but she couldn't change it, so there was little point in whining about it. "Share a tent with me, Neeshka?"

"Course," the tiefling nodded. "I've changed my mind though, you know. You do owe me. One more night on those rocks is going to kill me."

Brianna grimaced. Her back hadn't liked the hard ground either, and she didn't relish the thought of waking up stiff and sore every day from now on.

"If we spread both our cloaks out beneath we should be fine," she suggested.

"But then we'll probably freeze to death."

"Yeah, well." Brianna shrugged again. "It's either comfort or life. Apparently we can't have it both ways."

* * *

Khelgar was already talking to Sergeant Martens by the time Brianna and the other two girls had gotten settled.

"Front line, o' course," the dwarf was saying, and nodding enthusiastically. "Plenty of chances for orcs to learn what it means to cross an Ironfist. Mind you, my old clanhome isn't too far from here, so they might already know."

"Er, yes." Martens, an experienced-looking greycloak with a weathered face and neatly trimmed beard, didn't seem very impressed by the dwarf's bragging. "Your shift starts at the sixth bell. Since you said you know a spot about fixing weapons, I'll put you with our smith, Derrel. He'll be glad for the help."

Khelgar seemed to find that assignment acceptable. He nodded gruffly and wandered off, presumably to check out Derrel the smith, and Sergeant Martens turned towards Brianna. His expression changed to one of puzzlement when he regarded rest of the group.

"And, er, what can you do?"

_That's a very good question indeed._

"Well," Brianna pointed to Qara. "She can set things on fire. Then there's Neeshka, she's, um…"

"Delicate," the tiefling put in.

"Yes, that. And then there's me." _Just your average watchwoman._

Martens peered at Qara with interest. "Mageling, eh? We did put in a request for a bit of Cloaktower support, was shot down by the council though. The men'll be glad to have you."

Qara looked inordinately pleased to hear that. The smile on her face faded when she listened to Marten's next words, however.

"Wouldn't want you to hurt those hands of yours building walls, so I'll have you help in the kitchen. Assist with the cooking, washing dishes, and the like."

"My, that'll be a step up from tavern wench." Neeshka was snorting with mirth.

"Shut it, tail-for-brains," Qara snarled. She seemed to briefly consider arguing with the sergeant, then apparently decided against it and stomped off. Martens looked after her with mild disapproval written on his face.

"She's always like this," Brianna said by way of explanation.

"I see." The sergeant's voice was dry as dust. "I don't think our cook will stand for it. Either way, let's look at you. With the Watch, are you?"

Brianna nodded.

"Hmph." He regarded her sword. "You any good with that, then?"

She tensed and straightened when she heard the open skepticism in his words.

"Yes," she said icily.

_Sort of halfway acceptable, maybe_ would have been the correct answer. She'd only been seriously training for a little over a month, after all, which didn't exactly make her a veteran.

_On the other hand, I'm a Lieutenant, for fuck's sake. I couldn't have gotten there on desk duty alone._

"Didn't mean to doubt you, it's just that you seem a bit small for the front line." It was as much of an apology as she was going to get, so she accepted it with a nod. It wasn't like she was actually keen on throwing herself into any battles. She noticed his eyes wandering to the men patching up holes in the walls and realized just in time that he was about to assign her to the unpleasant task of carrying rocks. Her mind raced to prevent it.

"I'm quite decent with a crossbow as well," she was quick to tell him just as he opened his mouth. "And I've got good eyes."

"Guard duty, then." He nodded towards the wooden towers. "Up on the lookout. That's only half a shift though, so we always got fresh eyes. The other half you can help building walls, unless you find something more suitable to do."

Brianna immediately made plans to do exactly that. Even dish washing seemed preferable to dropping stones on her feet and getting her fingers crushed.

"And you," Martens continued, regarding Neeshka and making it obvious that he had no idea what to make of her. "Just… make yourself useful. Go help Simmy or something."

Simmy, it turned out, was the camp's resident supplier of alchemical substances, namely acid vials and flasks of alchemist's fire. She was also the closest thing the Old Owl Well encampment had to a quartermaster.

"Lots of trolls around these parts," she told Brianna and Neeshka when they went to talk to her. "If you're away from the camp for any reason, be sure you've got either acid or fire on you in case you run into one. Of course the orcs are the more commonplace threat, and they're keeping us plenty busy."

Just as she said that, the bell that marked the hours in the camp rang, and kept ringing. Urgent shouts accompanied the tone. Around them, greycloaks interrupted whatever they were doing and took up their weapons in a hurry.

"Another raiding party." Simmy sighed deeply, produced a slingshot and several small pellets in one delicate hand and peered towards the gates. "Well, let's get to it."

Brianna heard Khelgar's triumphant roar from across the camp. Thankfully, the orcs were approaching the far side of the camp, which saved her from being part of an impromptu front line. She made a mental note to keep away from either side of the encampment open to the pass even as she reached for her crossbow. That way, she would be able to avoid the worst of the fighting without being considered a coward.

"They may not make it this far back," Simmy remarked, nevertheless keeping her sling ready to fire. "The orcs haven't been attacking full force for some time now. Lack of water is keeping the tribes weakened and busy, since we're holding the well, and it's the only water source for a good three days in any direction."

"Hm." Brianna cocked her crossbow, just in case. "Wouldn't it make more sense for the orcs to get a force together for one large attack, instead of wasting their fighters in these small raiding parties? Or are they really too stupid to come up with anything like that?"

"Oh, they're plenty stupid," Simmy replied, "but not quite that stupid. No, they'd be organizing something quite like you were describing and flattening us right down if they weren't preoccupied with other things. Lucky us that they are, I suppose."

* * *

Soon, Brianna's day was ruled by the hourly bell ringing through the camp.

It was the sixth bell that saw her reluctantly leaving the pocket of warmth beneath her own and Neeshka's cloaks and putting on her layers of clothes and her armor in the freezing cold. She then left their shared tent in order to grab what passed for breakfast in camp – usually nothing but a bit of bread and a cup of lukewarm well water. It didn't do much to raise her spirits for the day ahead.

By the seventh bell she had finished her stretches and was climbing the ladder to the top of the observation post. She shared the spot with a man named Albrecht, a seasoned ranger who was pleasant enough company. They spent their four hours of watch duty in near silence. Sometimes she would spot orcs during her time in the lookout, and be part of the first line of defense up high with her crossbow.

The eleventh bell saw her descending the lookout and getting in line for lunch. Brianna had wisely chosen not to ask what ingredients went into the watery stew she was served by Qara or one of the other kitchen helpers. On a good day there were spoonfuls of soggy vegetables swirling in her bowl around the rare chicken bone, on a bad day it was only chunks of the grey, unappetizing mystery meat about whose origins Brianna did not dare speculate.

At the twelfth bell, she would join Neeshka and Simmy to receive lessons in alchemy. Simmy worked tirelessly on replenishing her stock, and Neeshka, who had a bit of experience with acids and poisons, had soon decided to join the resolute halfling woman in her work. Brianna, whose only other alternative had been helping Callum's men in constructing walls, had opted to take lessons from the two women instead. She had never been very good with herbs and plants, but her hands were steady enough to assist in mixing some of the concoctions.

She usually left her daily drills for the evening. Sleep came more easily when she pushed herself to the brink of exhaustion right before the bell sent her to her tent for the night.

The days passed without a sign of the Waterdeep emissary. Brianna's hopes of getting back to Neverwinter in the foreseeable future dwindled fast.

"We'll be stuck here forever," she told Neeshka dully one afternoon. "Or at least until trouble finds us again."

By trouble she meant, of course, Githyanki. Simmy was mashing herbs nearby, however, so she was not about to say the name of their pursuers out loud. Her green skinned attackers had not found her in Old Owl Well yet, and she hoped it would stay that way for a while longer.

"You could always quit the Watch," Neeshka suggested. "Go back to Neverwinter, find a few thieves who know a way to bypass the watchmen and get into Blacklake. Hells, for all we know Blacklake is probably open again by now. We could just walk in, and forget about this waiting for the emissary business."

Brianna wished fervently that things could be that easy. She was sick of aching every morning from sleeping on the hard ground, and she was sick of being served stew that made her want to throw up just thinking about what she was probably eating. Everyone in the camp stank to the high heavens because they spent so much time fighting, and baths were an out-of-place luxury in the situation they were in. She would have given much to be able to go back to the Flagon, where Sal would have cooked her a decent meal and Duncan would have drawn her a hot bath and she could have drifted off to sleep in her soft, warm bed.

"Careful," Neeshka warned her, and Brianna's focus snapped back to the beaker in her hands, which was tilting dangerously. She straightened it just before the acid inside could spill out and eat its way through her fingers.

"Are you ready with that thickener, Neesh?"

"Just about. Give me a moment, it's not quite smooth yet."

Brianna watched patiently as the tiefling's nimble fingers stirred the paste before her, eliminating clumps. It was a time-consuming process, but a vital one, as an uneven thickener would cause acid-coated chunks to explode into their faces when the two were mixed.

"You know it isn't that easy," Brianna said as she shifted into a more comfortable position, holding the beaker as still as possible. "Anyone competent enough to get me into Blacklake knows who I am by now. I killed Moire. I've made Lieutenant. There's no way in the hells they'd cooperate with me. Even if I make a big deal out of quitting the Watch, it'll look like a clumsy attempt at infiltration."

"I suppose you're right. It just eats away at me, you know." Neeshka made a sound of triumph as she squashed yet another clump. "Helping the very same men I used to run and hide from."

"I know. I _am_ sorry about that." Brianna sighed and carefully lifted the beaker when Neeshka waved her closer. Before they could begin the process of mixing the acid with the thickener, however, a shadow fell across her face.

"Lieutenant?" a reluctant voice asked.

It was one of the optimistic young Greycloaks who had accompanied Brianna and her companions on the journey to Old Owl Well. Barely more than a boy, the blond youth before her now had several fresh battle scars, however, and was looking decidedly grim.

"Commander Callum asked to see you right away," he relayed his message.

"Oh, this could be good," Neeshka remarked.

Brianna nodded and forced her attention back onto the beaker. It wouldn't do to douse herself in acid because she got excited. Simmy had interrupted her herb grinding and was now moving to take Brianna's spot. She passed the acid to the halfling woman and searched her brain for the boy's name.

"Thank you, er, Sandrik. Has he had a scout returning?"

During the first two days, Brianna had allowed herself to start hoping for news from the emissary every time she spotted one of Callum's scouts giving him a report, but she no longer even noticed the men who gathered information for the commander.

"I think so, yes." The youth seemed unsure of his own words, however, so Brianna tried not to get her hopes up just yet. With the acid now in Simmy's experienced hands, she dusted herself off and then made her way across the camp. Sandrik followed her at a distance, as though to make sure she would actually reach her destination.

She soon spotted the cluster of greycloak uniforms by the kitchen tent. Callum, who lacked a place for his tactical command, had commandeered one of the tables they usually ate their meals at and covered it with several documents, one of them a map. He was pointing, looking frustrated, and the greycloak captains next to him were debating something.

_Probably something to do with Katalmach again._

Brianna was familiar with the strange orcish word now, as was everyone else in camp. Khelgar, who was quite familiar with the orcs of the Sword Mountains, had given her an explanation for the term when she had first heard it. A name for a warrior who loses himself in battle, so he had said. The orcs had given the title to someone who had caused Callum a lot of frustration.

Katalmach was the reason the orcs hadn't attacked Old Owl Well in full force. Scouts kept bringing news of a small band of people attacking orcs in the mountains, independently of the greycloaks. Any attempts to contact the group, however, had been futile thus far. Katalmach and his men didn't appear to want to be found.

At first she had wondered why in the hells the commander was upset about receiving extra help in dealing with the orcs. She thought she understood now though, after hearing a remark of Callum's about needing to control a battlefield. The fact that the greycloaks didn't know who Katalmach was, what he was capable of or what his motivations were did present something of a problem. It was difficult to plan any kind of offense with a big question mark hovering above it all.

The greycloak captain closest to her stepped aside as she approached. Callum gave her a brief nod, but then turned his attention back to the scout next to him, who was speaking and pointing.

"We had them tracked down to here," his finger traced a circle on the map, "but we only found a freshly abandoned camp when we searched for them."

_I was right. Katalmach. Doesn't answer why he had me summoned, though._

"Damn it all!" Callum's fist pounded the table as the dwarven commander shouted in a rare outburst. "We could be so much more effective against the orcs working _with_ this man, if only he'd talk to us."

"We did what we could, sir," the scout apologized. Callum sighed, calm again, and waved the man away. He stood for a moment, hands propped onto the table, staring down at the map.

"I finally received news of the emissary," he said then, still staring at the map but obviously talking to Brianna.

She stepped closer, past the other greycloak captain.

"We found his escorts," Callum elaborated. The tense edge in his voice was more pronounced than usual.

"Dead or alive, sir?" she asked, already fairly certain what the answer would be.

"Killed to the last man." Callum tapped a spot on the map. "Right here. No sign of the emissary himself though."

Brianna squinted at the place he'd indicated. "Orcs?" she asked the obvious question, noticing the spot was near one of the orc lairs the scouts had located.

"Looks that way, yes. Trolls or wild animals aren't intelligent enough to take political prisoners."

"So what do we do?"

Callum tugged on his beard in thought. "We don't negotiate with orcs."

Brianna didn't like where this was going. Brelaina was expecting either the emissary himself or proof of his death. For all the news they'd gotten, she still could deliver neither. Negotiations would have meant a chance for her to stand back and let others do the work, but…

"I want you to go out and make an attempt to find him."

_Why does this always fucking happen? Are the words "Ask me about my suicidal tendencies!" written on my forehead?_

She stared at the dwarf, trying to keep the infuriating frustration that was welling up inside her in check.

"What are you expecting me to do, search the entire mountain? Walk into the orc lair and ask nicely?"

Callum almost certainly noticed her tone, but he did not comment on it.

"This is the Bonegnasher lair." He once again pointed at the map, tapping his finger on the dark circle near the spot where the emissary's escorts had been found. "One of the smaller tribes, but they control the area in question, so they almost certainly are the ones who took the emissary. Or if not, they would know where he can be found."

Brianna crossed her arms before her chest and waited for information that would make attacking the Bonegnasher lair slightly less insane. There was no way in the nine hells she would let Callum send her on her own to face an entire orc tribe.

Callum regarded her with thoughtful eyes. She wasn't sure what he was seeing when he looked at her, but she hoped it was something that would make him realize quickly that she was not some obedient, expendable little soldier that he could send on a certain death mission.

"The Bonegnashers are reportedly quite cowardly." Callum volunteered more information then. "They've been known to make deals. Their chieftain, Yaisog, is old enough to know when to try something other than fighting. Show enough force, and you might not have to fight all that many orcs to get to him."

Brianna had to admit that this was something she could work with. And she doubted it would be simple to refuse Callum. She was under his command at the well, after all. Throwing a tantrum wouldn't impress him in the slightest.

"I can't spare many men, but I'll send a couple of recruits along with you."

Brianna chewed on her lower lip in thought.

Callum was good at being convincing when he had to be. In only a few words, he had given her a strategy and some extra men to help her accomplish something that might let her return to Neverwinter. But that didn't mean she was about to take this deal without some negotiating of her own.

"I'll need a scout," she said. "None of my group are all that adept at pathfinding. I won't go out and risk getting lost in the mountains."

"One scout." Callum nodded. "Very well."

"Alright then." Brianna's throat was dry. She tried not to think about the fact that she was, once again, left without much of a choice and about to put herself in considerable danger.

_This is getting very, very old._

With one final nod of Callum's, she was dismissed. She stepped back, turned, and noticed Qara, who was busy stirring something in an enormous cauldron. The sorceress looked, as usual, sullen and harassed. When Brianna approached her, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"What do you want?"

They hadn't talked much ever since leaving Neverwinter. Brianna had little interest in the other girl, and Qara wasn't one to open up of her own accord. Brianna was also fairly certain that the sorceress blamed her for being stuck in a greycloak camp in the middle of the Sword Mountains. It wasn't exactly a good prerequisite for friendship.

"Pack your stuff," Brianna told her, poointedly ignoring the petulant expression on the other girl's face. "And find Khelgar. We're going orc hunting."


	25. Determination

_Author's Note: This chapter features a small shoutout to Teutonic Titwillow, whose wonderful fanfiction you should go read, if you haven't yet. _

* * *

**Determination**

Elis was throwing up again.

Brianna had stopped and turned at the first sounds of retching – which was not all that easy on the narrow path, especially with a heavy pack on her back that kept throwing her off-balance in all sorts of odd directions. Now she was watching largely without emotion as the slender girl coughed and retched and finally emptied what was left of her stomach contents onto the rocks.

"Oh, _great_," Qara said with thinly veiled disgust. The sorceress took several steps back, apparently worried that she might be roped into helping if she stood too close to the rest of the group.

Sandrik, however, had already dropped his pack and hurried to Elis' side. The two young greycloaks had grown rather more close than strictly necessary ever since the group had left Old Owl Well. Whatever else she thought of this blossoming romance, Brianna would have tolerated it ten times over if it meant that she didn't have to brave the smell of vomit in order to comfort the girl and get her moving again.

To be fair, the smell of burned troll flesh had a tendency to offend. The smoldering pile of remains hadn't exactly stoked her appetite either, but that encounter lay more than a mile back down the mountain. Elis still hadn't calmed down about it.

Brianna sighed inwardly. They were already running late – the troll hadn't helped – and considering that the sun was dipping below the horizon already, they were going to have a big problem soon if they didn't get a move on. Callum really hadn't done her any favors when he had picked what had to be the two most inexperienced greycloaks in the entire encampment to send along with her. Especially the girl was becoming more of a liability than anything else.

She opened her mouth, considered several different statements, and closed it again.

What in the nine hells was she supposed to say? She was not some greycloak drill sergeant who could convincingly bark out orders, but she was bound to be terrible at offering encouragement as well, fed up as she was. She gave Khelgar a surreptitious glance, but the dwarf seemed content enough to wait for Elis to calm herself.

_Blast it all, we need a proper leader. I'm not very good at this. _

"We need to keep moving," she eventually offered, lamely, and was rewarded with a scathing glance from Sandrik.

"Give her time to calm down. She's too upset to keep going."

"She'll be even more upset once it gets dark and we're stranded in the middle of a narrow path right next to a massive drop," Brianna pointed out what all of them already knew.

"You aren't helping," Sandrik argued, and pressed the shaking girl closer to his chest.

_Oh hells, I really am going to have to try and bully them into it, aren't I?_

She took a long moment to consider her words.

"I am not," she began then, giving her voice what she hoped was a dangerous edge, "going to risk the lives of this entire group just because a little girl can't hold her lunch. You're going to help her keep moving, and I really don't care if she pukes all over the both of you in the process, because I'll have absolutely no qualms about leaving you both behind to face the next troll on your own if you don't get the hells up and moving right. The fuck. _Now_."

They both rose from their knees simultaneously, like puppets on strings, and mutely stared at her.

_Great. Now they despise me completely. _

"That wasn't so hard now, was it, lass?" Khelgar, who appeared to want to help, stepped beside her. "The lad and meself'll take yer pack."

Sandrik looked everything but thrilled to be volunteered, but he stooped and picked up Elis' pack obediently.

"I'm so tired," Elis breathed pitifully, to no one in particular.

Brianna's hands curled into tight fists around the straps of her pack.

_By the gods, I'll kill her with my own bare hands if she doesn't shut the hells up. I don't give a fuck how tired she is. We can't carry her across the damned mountain!_

She opened her mouth to say as much and cause the girl to hate her even more. To her surprise, she was preempted.

"We're all tired," Qara pointed out, sounding just a bit more aggressive and sullen than she usually did. "My feet have blisters, and I've been lugging all this crap around for far too long and all I want to do is sleep in a decent bed, but right now I'd settle for just making camp once we're off this suicide trail. So can we _please_ get a move on?"

"Willem and Neeshka will have a campsite picked out and prepared for us by now," Brianna pointed out. "All we have to do is _get there_."

And finally, Elis moved forward, shaking hands hovering in the air for balance.

Brianna suppressed a sigh as she watched the girl's clumsy steps.

_I can already see it coming. She'll stumble and pitch headfirst down the mountain, and Sandrik will jump after her to save her, and then I'll be out two greycloaks and Callum will probably reprimand me. It's one of those days._

* * *

By the time they reached safer ground, the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and the sky had darkened to the point where Brianna wouldn't have been able to see her own hand in front of her face if not for the floating balls of light Qara had conjured up. Still, even with the witchlights guiding their way, Brianna had a difficult time to keep from stumbling over rocks hidden by the moving, flickering shadows. She felt distinctly uneasy.

When someone stepped out from behind a tall boulder, far too close to Brianna for comfort, she had her sword drawn before her brain had even begun to process what was in front of her. She was quite satisfied with her fast reaction.

_Those morning lessons with Cormick really are paying off._

The only sound she heard was that of a throat clearing. She lowered her weapon in relief when she recognized the twitching tail.

"Hey Neesh," she croaked out.

"I've been wondering how long you'd take to make it here." The tiefling stepped into the light of the floating spheres. "Bit late, isn't it?"

"We ran into some complications."

"Complications? The exciting kind?"

"The troll kind." Brianna turned to check on the progress of the rest of the group. Khelgar and Qara were coming to a stop nearby, but the two greycloaks were still clambering across the rocks in the distance.

"Ooh, nasty." Neeshka tilted her head, looking mildly intrigued. "Did you run?"

"Qara started chucking fireballs at it. By the time we got to it, it was pretty much just a lump of charcoal."

Brianna made it a point to sound casual. In fact, the powers the sorceress had displayed had been a bit intimidating. The troll had been reduced to nothing but a lump of sizzling, charred flesh and bones by the time Qara had finally run dry of magic.

"Just like it deserved," Qara muttered.

Sandrik and Elis, their arms around each other, were stumbling closer. Brianna glanced at them and then turned back towards Neeshka.

"Please tell me you've found us a campsite."

"Yep. No trolls either." Neeshka turned on the spot. "Got some bad news for you, though."

"Figures," Brianna muttered. She followed Neeshka down the refreshingly broad trail.

"Over there," the tiefling pointed down a fork in the path. "That's the Bonegnasher approach. About a hundred feet up, massive rock slide. And I mean massive. Like some-god-or-archdemon-must-really-hate-you massive."

Brianna's heart sank.

"Any way around it?"

"Willem says no, unless we've got a whole lot of powerful explosives. Which we don't."

"We've got fireballs," Qara offered.

Neeshka made a sound that Brianna guessed was supposed to be one of derision.

"Rocks aren't flammable, you know. Anyway, you can all take a look tomorrow, but unless we have a really brilliant idea we'll need to climb round half the mountain to get to another path leading to the lair."

"We don't have that much time," Brianna stated the obvious. Their water reserves were getting to be dangerously low already.

"Well, let's just worry about that in the morning," Neeshka dismissed any further thought of the problem.

The campsite that Willem and Neeshka had found turned out to be an ominous-looking cave mouth. A welcoming fire had been lit before it. Some heavenly smell suggested roasting meat.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Sandrik asked timidly. "Have you checked inside?"

Brianna eyed the cave with more or less the same skepticism. Back at Old Owl Well, they had been given the advice to stay clear of any caves in the mountains, as they were sure to contain either trolls or wolves.

"Should be, yeah," Neeshka shrugged. "Willem's still inside, checking everything."

"Are you sure he hasn't been killed yet?" That was Qara, with all of her usual pessimism.

"What I want ter know is, what's on the fire?" Khelgar peered at the makeshift spit over the flames. "Mountain goat, eh?"

"Willem shot it. Figured we'd all appreciate a nice hot meal."

"Oh, this is great." Brianna allowed herself a moment to breathe in the smell of the roast. After so many days of utterly disgusting stew and dried trail rations, it was no surprise that her mouth was watering profusely. "I'll always send you two scouting ahead from now on, if it leads to decent food."

Soon, they all sat around the fire and ate. Willem, it turned out, had not been devoured on his cave inspection, and the scout soon joined them at the fire. The warmth, rest and food did wonders to quiet the usually bickering group. Soon they were all leaning back on their packs, staring up at the sky or into the fire. Comfortable silence lay over them all like a warm blanket.

Brianna sucked a few drops from her waterskin to wash down the last of the meat. She tried not to think about the pitiful amount of water she had left. Another half day's worth, perhaps, if she was careful. Originally, Callum had suggested they try to take water from the Bonegnasher clan, if there was need for additional supply. It would have the added effect of weakening the orcs. But they should have been able to make it back on the rations they had – if they hadn't fallen behind schedule more than an entire day due to blocked passes and a certain female greycloak moving at snail's pace.

They needed some sort of plan. There either had to be a way to clear the rock slide, or they would have to get water from a different source.

"Rain would be so lovely right about now," she thought out loud.

"But then the fire would go out," Qara murmured sleepily.

"The trouble is, if it rained the orcs would get water too," Willem pointed out. "Callum's advantage would slip."

"I don't really mind the good commander's advantage slipping a bit if it means we won't end up delusional with thirst," Brianna replied.

"It won't get that far," Willem assured Brianna as much as everyone else. "If we do run out, I will be sure to keep a lookout for plants we can chew, and there are a few other things we can do to get water."

"Like what?" Sandrik straightened from his curled up position. "Are we going to end up drinking animal blood? Or maybe our own fl-"

"_Ew_!" Qara, now fully awake, had sat up and was shaking herself in disgust. "You are just vile. Right, I don't really care about what the lot of you decide to do, but tomorrow I'll be trying to blast that rock slide apart no matter what it takes." She crossed her arms before her chest and looked around defiantly, as though expecting someone to try to stop her.

Nobody appeared to care enough to do so.

"Your magic alone isn't going to be enough." Brianna sat up as well and squinted at Qara across the fire. She raised her hand just as the sorceress opened her mouth, probably to object out of principle. "I'm not saying you're useless, just that we'll need _more_ than fireballs. Brute force alone won't clear that slide, so let's think of something that will."

"Like what?" Elis was staring blankly.

"Well I don't know that yet, do I?" Brianna asked testily. "All I'm telling you to do is think. What do we have to work with? What can we use to bring down those damn rocks. _Think!"_

Silence descended again. Brianna let her eyes dart around as she thought, taking quick inventory of everything they had thought to bring along.

Neeshka was frowning, and staring into space. Khelgar looked more bewildered than anything. Willem had his eyes closed and his fingers at his temples, and Elis and Sandrik were looking at each other and holding hands. _Useless_, those two.

"Alchemist's fire," an idea finally came to her. "We've still got plenty of bottles left."

"Not enough to bring down that slide, though. Not even with my magic." Qara shook her head.

"Acid too." Neeshka reached up and massaged the tips of her horns. "Could we try to corrode the rocks? Before blowing them apart?"

"Excellent suggestions." Brianna ticked the list off using her fingers. "Magic, fire, acid. What else?"

More silence.

"Well, we have our weapons," said Sandrik. "Can't we use them somehow?"

Brianna shook her head. "Not unless our goal is to dull them completely. It wouldn't do much good."

"Oh." He slumped, looking dejected.

"There is.. a pretty rusty pickax in the cave, I think," Willem offered. "I'm not sure how we'd use it, given that the rocks would probably crash down on us if we tried hacking them apart with it, but maybe it can be of use."

"I don't know how either, but we can keep it in mind," Brianna nodded.

"Can't she summon things?" Elis suddenly piped up, causing heads to turn in her direction. "Can't all wizards summon things? Like a mountain bear to push the rocks away for us."

"I am _not_ a wizard." There couldn't have been any more contempt in Qara's voice. "Maybe your little mind can't tell the difference, but not everyone who uses magic has to bury their nose in books for weeks to cast a cantrip."

Sandrik was almost on his feet. "Don't talk to her like that, you stupid fire-haired…"

He seemed to have trouble finding the appropriate word to finish on.

"At least I can fight my own battles and don't need a lovesick puppy to do it for me. And to answer the question, I have enough power to blast the two of you to the nine hells and back without breaking a sweat. Why would I waste that kind of power on summoning silly _animals_?"

Sandrik really was on his feet now. His face could not have been any redder as he advanced on Qara. Elis' cheeks matched him in color.

"Oh hells," Neeshka muttered, turning to Brianna. "Say something!"

"I wonder what a pickax is doing in a troll cave," Brianna blankly repeated the thought that had just come to her mind.

All heads turned again, this time to look at her. Sandrik stopped in his tracks.

"Sorry?" Willem asked, looking unsure.

"The pickax. What is it doing here? Trolls don't usually use pickaxes."

"Oh, but this isn't a troll cave," Willem told her brightly. "It'll be great to sleep in, doesn't smell at all."

That statement brought Brianna to her feet.

"If it isn't a troll cave, then what is it?"

"I don't really know, but there's lots of broken crates around… nothing helpful though, I looked!"

"Yes, I'm sure you did." Brianna reached for her pack and pulled out her chalice. "Seven pairs of eyes see a whole lot more than one though, so let's go look again."

Brianna leading, glowing chalice in her hand, they made their way into the cave.

They walked slowly, as not to miss anything. Willem had been right about there being a lot of broken crates, plenty of rotten wood littering the floor, but no clue as to what might have been inside them when they had been whole. Before long, they spotted a single rusted chain mail glove, half-buried in the dirt. Neeshka was the one who saw it first.

"You think that belonged to whoever put the crates here?"

They all squinted at the glove. Brianna knelt and brought the chalice close to illuminate the find better.

"It's got to be quite old," Willem pointed out. "This cave is dry as dust, metal wouldn't rust very fast here."

"So whoever this belonged to probably won't clear the rocks for us." Brianna straightened up and turned. "But they might have left something behind that we could use."

"Rope," Sandrik pointed out several seconds later. "A whole coil."

"If it's as old as the glove, it'll probably fall apart on us," Neeshka warned.

Brianna stepped further, and as she raised the chalice, part of the cave wall before her shimmered and glittered rather prettily.

She reached out and let her fingertips glide over it.

"Ore. That's what they were doing here. It's a whole vein of ore."

"So they were mining it?" Qara stepped next to her and examined the raw metal interlaced with the rock. "It's pretty."

"Yeah." Brianna stared at the ore vein in thought. "Obviously they never got finished mining it. Maybe a troll attacked, or the orcs, or who knows what else happened. But if they left their pickax and rope and all this other stuff, maybe they left something we can use, too. Let's keep looking."

They searched the cave inch by inch. Qara used her witchlights again to illuminate one wall while Brianna's chalice brought light to the other. They moved loose rocks and picked up pieces of crates, they looked in all cracks and on the ceiling, and finally, Neeshka screamed triumphantly near a small crevice.

"There's another crate hidden in here," she announced. She was already working with both of her hands when Brianna hurried over to give her more light. "A bit stuck, but there's definitely something in it."

They stood around her in a semicircle, all watching as Neeshka's nimble fingers tugged and pulled on the object that seemed to be fairly tightly wedged between the rocks. Finally, the crate gave way and moved a bit. The sound of clinking glass was unmistakable.

"Careful," Brianna warned, though of course it wasn't necessary. Neeshka knew what she was doing.

The tiefling took her time easing the box out of its hiding place. The wood of this container, too, was quite rotten, yet it was not falling apart under Neeshka's delicate touch. Finally she had it out in the open, and they all craned their necks as she lifted the lid, which crumbled away to reveal some very odd contraptions.

"What in the nine hells are those?" Khelgar asked. The dwarf's voice was oddly hushed, as though they were assembled around a sleeping child.

Brianna regarded the top layer of what looked like fragile glass globes, filled with some sort of golden liquid.

"Some of them are cracked," Neeshka pointed out. "They look as though they'll fall apart if you so much as look at them the wrong way."

"Let's hope they don't." Willem sounded nervous. "I think I know what these are. Blastglobes."

"Blastglobes!" Qara exclaimed, so loudly that several people jumped with fright. "These'll blow anything up!"

"They might just blow us up if we're not very, very careful with them," Willem warned. "They were used, during the war I think, for controlled explosions and to throw them at enemies. As soon as they shatter, boom!" He illustrated with his hands.

"How much boom?" Brianna wanted to know. "Enough to clear a rock slide?"

"All of them together? I should think so, yes." Willem shrugged. "I'm no expert though. I've just heard about them."

"Combined with my fireballs, they'll be enough," Qara assured them confidently. "So is that the plan then? Can we finally go to bed?"

"Sounds wonderful," Neeshka yawned, which caused a wave of yawning all throughout the cave.

"Beds," Brianna ordered, which made her feel rather like her companions were all five years old and she was Retta Starling.

"Stony ground covered by not nearly enough fabric, you mean," Qara corrected, but there was no bite behind the comment, so Brianna ignored it.

"I'll need you at full power in the morning," she told the other girl instead. Qara mumbled something unintelligible as she went to find her bedroll, leaving the rest of them standing around the blastglobes.

"Ye know, encouraging those firestartin' tendencies of hers are goin' ter get us all killed one day," Khelgar remarked when they finally all shambled back towards the cave entrance.

"Noted." Brianna gave the dwarf a nod. "But unless you spontaneously develop sorcerous abilities before tomorrow morning, she's all we've got."

* * *

They prepared the rockslide the next morning, using all of the the alchemist's fire they had left, along with most of the blastglobes that looked reasonably stable, wedged between the stones. The unstable ones were left in the crate, and Neeshka placed them directly in front of the massive obstruction.

From safely far away, Qara cast a single powerful fireball on the slide.

Then they were all sprinting for distance and cover as the mountain shook.

"Well that worked well," Brianna gasped when she could finally find breath to do so. She found herself laying flat on her back, covered in a fine layer of pebbles. Spitting out a chunk of them, she climbed to her feet.

"That was brilliant!" Qara exclaimed happily somewhere to her right. Brianna wasn't quite sure where exactly, because the thick dust cloud all around her prevented her from seeing anything.

"The rock slide's gone," Willem reported, and she wondered how he could possibly know.

"I wouldn't be surprised if half the mountain's gone," Neeshka remarked. She appeared to want to say more, but any other words out of her mouth were swallowed by a coughing fit.

"Nobody fall of the mountain while they can't see," Brianna gave possibly her most nonsensical order ever. "Just stay where you are and wait until the dust clears."

When eventually the dust did clear, the sight was an awe-inspiring one.

With the exception of a dip in the ground, there was nothing pointing to the fact that there had once been a rock slide. A scattering of pebbles covered the ground, but apart from them, the massive obstruction that had blocked their path was just _gone_.

"Nice work, Qara," she complimented. The sorceress beamed with pride.

_Maybe she'll actually be in a better mood for five minutes now that she got to blow stuff up._

"Now we've just got some orcs to deal with," she said out loud.

"A lot of orcs," Willem corrected. "Shouldn't be far now."

Brianna nodded mutely.

Of course, the goal of this entire trip had been to confront the orcs of the Bonegnasher clan. She had used much of the time they had spent hiking here to try and formulate a plan, some strategy that might get them into the orc cave and back out in one piece.

But still, now that they were so close, she was nervous. Her mission was a risky one, no matter how she looked at it. She did _not_ want to die in that lair.

She spent a few moments brushing dust out of her hair. Not that it would have made the frizzy, disgusting mess on her head any prettier to look at, but the motions helped her in sorting out her mind and staying calm.

"Right. Orcs. Let's go say hello."


	26. Hide and Seek

**Hide and Seek**

The faint, steady dripping sound was the only thing that kept Brianna from losing track of time in the complete darkness that surrounded her. There was no light, no movement, no other sound that might have helped her to remain focused. Her only companion was the abhorrent smell that was present all throughout the cave system, her only reminder of her task the edges of the rocks she was wedged between, digging into her skin.

When she had first taken her place amidst the boulders, she had noticed the sound of the water droplets coming from somewhere above her in the cave system, just barely audible. The count was twenty-six from one dripping sound to the next. She'd done it thrice, to be sure that the time between drops remained constant. Then she had settled in to wait.

One hundred and thirty-six drops of water had fallen since.

Though she tried her best to fight it, unease was growing in her mind. She couldn't help wondering whether her companions had managed to screw up any part of the instructions she had given them. They had been simple enough – in theory, anyway – but even the smallest mistake could be costly when one was busy sneaking around in the middle of an orc lair.

_Drip. _

_One hundred and thirty-seven. _

Her plan had not been met with general approval by the greycloaks. Khelgar had grumbled into his beard, but in the end, he had had to admit that it wouldn't have been possible for them to take on a clan of orcs in open combat. Neeshka preferred sneaking in the shadows anyway, and Qara didn't usually give a damn one way or the other, but Elis, Sandrik and Willem had voiced their unhappiness with the _dishonorable tactics_ Brianna had suggested.

She would have laughed at them if she hadn't been so bloody annoyed by their stupidity. Especially Elis and Sandrik had shouted honor and integrity without even considering how bloody dangerous it would be to engage a tribe of orcs in their own lair. If it had fallen to those two blind lovebirds to lead them, they probably would have stood in front of the cave entrance shouting challenges until a group of orc archers used them for target practice.

Willem had been the first one to concede that not playing it smart would get them all killed. The pathfinder was used to hiding and watching, and he had almost certainly seen before what happened to soldiers who openly engaged a much stronger enemy. The two barely-grown greycloaks, on the other hand, hadn't yet let go of their streaks of idealism. Brianna had had to pull rank on them both in order to get them to go along with her plan.

_Drip. _

_One hundred and thirty eight. _

Elis and Sandrik were the group's weak points for this exact reason. They were reluctant to do what had to be done, and from her current position, Brianna could not influence them. If they changed their minds now that she wasn't around, they were going to get the entire group killed, and Brianna hoped that they were at least smart enough to realize that.

_Neeshka will be keeping an eye on them. And she's got Khelgar to back her up. They're fine._

_Besides, if the orcs were alarmed, I would know it by now. They aren't exactly subtle._

As though to underline that last thought, the sound of scattering pebbles echoed through the passage.

_So here we go, then._

Brianna rested her hand lightly on her sword and watched as light began to dance along the cave walls, reflections of the torch that was being carried her way. It did not take long until the orc came into view.

Brianna felt her pulse accelerate, and she worked hard to keep her breath even. The last thing she needed was for this mountain of an orc to be alerted to her presence because of so simple a thing as breathing. Her hand tightened around the hilt of the sword as she watched him hurry along the passage. She was not an expert at reading orc features, but he did seem more alert than most orcs she had passed in the cave so far. His demeanor was rather urgent.

_We've must have been noticed. The others were probably too loud, wouldn't surprise me if Khelgar tripped over something and started cursing. Or maybe this fellow realized that someone's done away with their alarm traps._

The orc passed her hiding spot without noticing her – Brianna would have been very surprised indeed if he had. She was crouching in a corner, completely shrouded in shadows by the surrounding tall boulders, and her pale skin was covered by a layer of ash. Even someone with vision far superior to those of the orcs would have had trouble making her out.

When he paused before the massive door just a few feet away and fumbled with something, Brianna moved. She was careful not to dislodge any pebbles, not to scrape any of her metal buckles against the rocks or indeed to make any noise at all. The orc was focused on the keyring he was holding, probably trying to identify which key would get him through the door. It allowed her to approach him undetected.

Most of the orcs who lived in the Sword Mountains wore a sort of hide armor, and this one in front of her was no exception. It made for a tough second skin, one Brianna couldn't hope to penetrate with her simple dagger. It was why she held her sword ready even though the larger weapon's silver glint was not quite so easily concealed.

_Focus. Find the right spot._

She'd likely only get one try at this – if she messed up, the orc would turn and smash her skull with the club dangling from his belt, or maybe he'd just choke her or break her neck with his bare hands. Standing behind him as she was, she would be able to give the sword enough momentum to cut through armor and tough orc skin. If she hit bone after that though, it would almost certainly stop the blade.

A key scraped against metal as the orc clumsily tried to find the keyhole. She _could not_ let him get through the door.

She exhaled, slowly and soundlessly. Then her right arm led her sword low, before driving it up and through two tough layers of resistance into the orc's body.

She was scared, and it was her fear that lent her the strength to push the blade into him to the hilt. When he begun to thrash and turn, she let go. She stumbled back several feet, trying to stay out of his view, because it had just occurred to her that even with a blade going all the way through him, there was no guarantee the orc would die right away, or even fast enough to prevent him from getting to her first.

So she shrank back into the shadows and watched as he turned helplessly and flailed his arms and reached out at random to find his invisible enemy.

The torch had dropped to the floor and was illuminating the orc's ghastly face from below. It exaggerated his features, turned his grimace of pain into a grotesque mask. She didn't turn her eyes away.

There was not a sound apart from the slight crackling of flames from the torch and the belabored breathing of the dying orc.

_Drip._

The noise was so faint her ears only barely picked it up. She wondered how many she had missed, how high her count should have been by now. A hundred and forty-one, maybe. Forty-two? No, it had not been that long.

She watched as the beastly creature sank to his knees and coughed blood. The dark droplets stained his tusks and the floor. They looked black in the low light.

Life took its time leaving the huge body. Brianna waited in the darkness for what felt far too long, before the orc finally keeled over and was still.

* * *

Neeshka, Brianna realized as she stepped into the main cavern, had a sense for the dramatic and a hidden flair for interior decorating. Under the tiefling's guidance, Elis, Willem and Sandrik had done a lot of work on the orcish common room.

The formerly messy cave was now a field of destruction. Broken chairs and upturned tables littered the blood-splattered floor. Torches, more or less evenly spaced on the rock walls, illuminated the scene eerily. Bodies had been carefully arranged for maximum effect. Many of them were sprawled on the floor, but with several of them, Neeshka had gotten creative. Brianna spotted one orc corpse hanging from the tip of a stalagmite, another stuffed headfirst into the cauldron that was still simmering on the fire pit.

All of the corpses, however, had one thing in common: Neeshka and the greycloaks had carefully hidden the way they had really died.

The way the room looked now, it was easy to believe that an army had waltzed through it and brutally killed everything in its way. The orcs displayed wounds from a multitude of different weapons, and blood was splattered high on the walls. It didn't look like most of them had been killed on their patrols, stabbed in the back or executed after they had stumbled into one of Neeshka's tangle traps. In addition to that, Willem and Sandrik were busy stomping back and forth to make it look like more than just a few people had come trampling through the dirt. It was exactly what they needed.

"Brilliant work," Brianna said once she had reached the middle of the room. Neeshka, who was busy putting the finishing touches on yet another large bloodstain on the apron of an orc matron, accepted the compliment with a nod.

"Elis didn't like this too much," the tiefling reported, her tone one of warning. "I was able to sort of talk her down a little, but I don't think we'll have heard the end of it yet."

"Right. That figures." Brianna briefly closed her eyes when a surge of nervousness hit her. "I don't really care if she wails and lectures me after we're done with the orcs. All I need is for you to make sure she keeps it together until we're out of here."

"Sure. Done." Neeshka tugged the apron back into place and stepped back two paces from the orc matron's corpse, eying her work critically. "I'd like to stay alive too, you know."

It would have been much easier if Brianna could have trusted everyone else in the group to have the same sense of self-preservation. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case. Especially Elis was not that clever, and Brianna wouldn't have put it past the girl to act without considering the fact that there were a number of angry, battle-hardened orcs still in the lair.

_If this plan doesn't work, we're dead. Simple as that._

She reached down to the pouch dangling from her belt then, to calm the fluttering fear inside her. Her fingers widened the drawstring and she slipped then inside and wrapped them around the two cool pieces of metal resting inside. Their magic traveled up her skin in a tingle that was so familiar to her by now that it did feel calming.

She'd had plenty of time to be bitter lately, but she hadn't really used the opportunity. The long days on the lookout back at the Old Owl Well camp, and the recent trek through the mountains should have had her cursing Daeghun all over again for putting her in yet another unbearable situation, but the truth was that she'd barely wasted a thought on her foster father recently.

She supposed that the distance which being in the mountains brought to everything was responsible for that. Things looked subtly different up here. Everything appeared as far removed in her thoughts as it was physically, and she found herself unwilling to waste energy on hating people and circumstances that had so little bearing on her current situation.

The shards were her link to those circumstances, the original task that had brought her so very far from West Harbor. They reminded her of why she was here.

She wasn't sure why this calmed her. It shouldn't have, but the strong prickle of magic traveling up her hand did not seem to be one for reason.

* * *

It was the ranger Albrecht who had explained the layout of most orc lairs to her one particularly boring morning up on the lookout back at Old Owl Well. From him she knew about the orcs' tendency to quarter the chieftain and the stronger warriors furthest back in the mountain. This was done to protect them from surprise attacks, and to make sure that when anyone in the front of the cave raised an alarm, the fighters and their leader had time to ready themselves for battle.

This simple fact, along with Callum's advice concerning the orc chieftain Yaisog Bonegnasher, had formed the basis for the Brianna's plan. They had, thus far, managed to avoid alerting the stronger members of the Bonegnasher tribe, the ones who were furthest back in the cave. With any luck, they wouldn't have to fight them at all.

They had also taken a single prisoner. A young orc, barely into adulthood, had been sent through the door Brianna had previously guarded, to relay a message to the chieftain.

And Yaisog, true to Callum's word, had taken the bait.

Now the chieftain of the Bonegnasher clan was entering the carefully prepared hall, flanked by his guards.

Brianna was ready for him.

She was standing tall, feet shoulders' width apart, in the middle of the carnage. Her blood-splattered blade was lowered, but plainly visible in her right hand. Her hair was open, in a tangled cloud around her face. It was the best way to try and hide how young she was. To the same effect, she had also streaked some orc blood across her cheeks.

Her sword and dagger were not the only weapons she relied on. It would have been reckless, face to face with a battle-hardened orc, not to take every possible precaution. To that end, she had some of Neeshka's choking powder in a pouch dangling from her side, a bottle of acid tucked into her belt and the last of the blastglobes hidden in the palm of her left hand.

The orc chieftain halted in the far doorway and took his time regarding the apparent battlefield. He wore a surprisingly neutral expression, considering the circumstances. His eyes traveled quickly around the room, over the corpses of orc matrons and children and weaker males.

Brianna decided to act before Yaisog recognized his favorite son or best friend or something of the sort and got too upset for anything but battle. She wanted to get out of this place alive, after all. Taking a deep breath, she focused on keeping her voice steady. She couldn't afford the smallest stutter, the tiniest sign of fear.

"Yaisog of the Bonegnasher Clan." The words echoed through the cave.

The orc chieftain gave an unimpressed grunt.

"I take it that it was you who slaughtered my clan, human," he called out to her.

She refused to let him dictate the terms of the conversation.

"I come representing the army of the city of Neverwinter and the mages of the Cloaktower," she said. She held her fingers crossed, hoping he would not be politically savvy enough to realize how ridiculous this claim was. "We come seeking information."

Yaisog gave another grunt and stepped marginally closer. Torchlight flickered across his face. He was not exactly pleasant to look at, but even from across the room Brianna could see the intelligence in his eyes. The fact that he did not refer to himself in third person, like so many orcs tended to do, hinted at the same. His grasp of Common was also excellent. She would have to watch herself.

"And you believe that slaughtering my kin will soften me to your demands?" Yaisog challenged.

"No," she replied. "Our battle mages blasted a path through the rock slide which blocks the approach to your clanhold this morning. It was an act of goodwill to demonstrate our intent. Our soldiers were attacked on sight upon approaching, however, which forced them to retaliate."

She tilted her head lightly, and very deliberately.

"As you may have noticed, most of our forces have retreated once more, when they could have been standing opposite you with their weapons drawn and spells ready."

Yaisog seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he focused on her face again, his eyes glinting with something she wished fervently she could have identified.

"Why were our alarms not triggered?" he asked then. "Why is it we did not hear the attack as it happened?"

Brianna forced a rough laugh out of her throat. It sounded strange, barking, to her own ears

"You do not expect me to reveal all of our tactics and battle plans out of common courtesy, do you, Yaisog? Suffice to say that our soldiers are efficient, and our mages know their silencing spells."

She was not even sure that a spell with this sort of effect existed, but unless she had made the most enormous misjudgment of her entire life, Yaisog was no student of the arcane.

_It's time to get to the point. Don't babble until you tangle yourself in your words. It's bound to happen sooner or later with your heart racing like it is._

"To get to the matter at hand, Yaisog, I do not enjoy wasting lives," she announced. "I do believe that if you cooperate and answer my questions, we can get through this without further bloodshed."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And once you get your answers, you will withdraw your troops? With all of that conflict going on at the well? You expect me to trust you?"

Her mind raced to find words to reassure him.

"Your clan is already weakened," she pointed out as tactfully as possible. "You will need time to rebuild and will not be able to take part in the attacks on Old Owl Well in the immediate future. And if you cooperate with us, we are honor-bound to leave you in peace. It is a compromise which satisfies the council of Neverwinter, and we are under their command."

She couldn't help but glance towards the greycloaks as she said those words. They were bound to be upset with her blatant misrepresentation. However, Willem and Sandrik were standing in the shadows, making it impossible for her to read their expressions. Elis, at least, was waiting outside along with Neeshka, so the woman would not be able to take further offense at her words.

Yaisog only grunted once more. Lacking any other signs from the chieftain, she chose to assume that this meant she had convinced him.

_Now get your information and get the hells out of here._

"An emissary from the city of Waterdeep traveled through these mountains recently," she told him. "He was waylaid by orcs close to this lair, and taken away."

"Ah," Yaisog said. His lips formed a misshapen grin around his tusks. "And what do soldiers of the city of Neverwinter care for an emissary from Waterdeep?"

So he did know about the emissary. She frowned at him and only barely resisted the temptation to chew her lip.

"He was bound for Neverwinter, and by the laws of hospitality, he should have received safe passage. We are concerned about the effect this may have on our political relations with the city of Waterdeep."

_Laws of Hospitality._ Brianna thought that this sounded quite official for something she had made up on the fly. She hoped she sounded like she knew what she was talking about.

"What do I care for your politics?" Yaisog grunted, and spat on the ground. "What do I care for your laws?"

"There is a very capable force waiting right outside the entrance to your clanhold," Brianna reminded him in a sharp tone. "If you simply hand over the emissary right now, you will not compel us to use deadly force to retrieve him. We will ask no further questions and withdraw all of our fighters on the spot."

Yaisog seemed to need a few moments to consider this. Brianna remained tense, keeping her eyes trained on him and his guards.

"He is not here," the orc finally admitted, and Brianna's heart sank. If this was a lie, Yaisog Bonegnasher was very good at lying indeed.

"I know where he is, however," the orc continued. "And if you swear that you will withdraw your mages and soldiers…"

She very nearly gave him an amused grin.

"Of course I swear," she said instead, looking as solemn as she could manage. "I swear by the gods…"

_Which I don't worship_

"…and by my ancestors…"

_Who are dead anyway, so what would they care?_

"…and by my own life."

_Which I am saving by swearing false oaths, I might add. Though I suppose it is technically the truth, since I will withdraw all of the mages and soldiers I came in with._

Yaisog seemed satisfied. "Very well," the chieftain grunted. "Our largest clan, the Eyegougers, hold your emissary captive. Logram Eyegouger is the one who ordered this attack."

"And you are certain that the emissary is still alive?"

"Logram claimed that capturing this man would turn the tide of the battle for us at Old Owl Well. That is all I know."

The words sounded final, and Yaisog looked at her expectantly.

_He is waiting for me to make good on my promise and get out of here. Just one more question, one very important one…_

"Where can I find the lair of the Eyegouger tribe?"

Yaisog's eyes focused on her again, and the orc nodded once. Brianna felt warm, and she hoped she was not obviously sweating.

_Just answer this one, so I can get the hells out of here._

But just as the chieftain opened his mouth for a reply, just as she was about to receive the one, final piece of information, a sound pierced the silence of the cave and threw all of Brianna's effort to the hells.

It was a magical sound, a gentle, supernatural _pop_, and there was no question where it had come from. Another orc had appeared near Yaisog out of thin air. A very heavily bleeding, battered orc that appeared to be in a lot of pain, and who was carrying a staff.

_A shaman. One of the few orcs who do cultivate magic._

Brianna felt like she had been punched in the gut.

The newcomer grunted only a few words in guttural orcish, but Brianna had a sick feeling that she knew exactly what was being said.

_She lied. There is no army._ Maybe even _I watched them stab the women and children from the back._

"Run," she said, very calmly and clearly in the direction of the greycloaks, Khelgar and Qara. Then, just as Yaisog's face changed into a grimace of pure fury and the orc chieftain drew his axe, she swung her left arm and threw the blastglobe clear across the room, turned, and ran like hell.


	27. Combine and Conquer

**Combine and Conquer**

It was Qara who saved all of their lives as they fled the Bonegnasher lair.

Brianna couldn't pull her mind together long enough to come up with any bright ideas while she ran through the tunnels alongside Neeshka and the others. She had flung her one bottle of acid blindly behind her, done the same with the choking powder, and then she had just ran, put all of her energy into keeping up with the rest of the group as they fled before one damned angry group of orcs. Yaisog was breathing down her neck, swinging his axe madly and _still burning_ in spots where the blastglobe's liquid had splashed him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the sorceress half turn as she ran out into the sunlight. Qara pointed at the ground and yelled something, and an eight foot high wall of flame sprung up between their group and the orcs. The flames framed the cave entrance neatly. From behind the fiery curtain, they heard an ear-splitting roar of frustration.

"Keep running," Brianna shouted hoarsely. It was easier said than done, now that they were outside, because moving any way but slowly and deliberately in the mountains more often than not often had the consequence of a very long and painful tumble down a very steep slope.

Qara pointed again and created a second wall of flame just a foot beyond the first.

"Let them burn," the sorceress snarled.

Brianna grasped the girl's elbow just as Qara opened her mouth for another spell.

"We _need_ to run," she said urgently. After a moment's worth of consideration, Qara pressed her lips together, nodded, and turned to catch up with the greycloaks.

By some miracle, they made it down the Bonegnasher approach in one piece. Brianna herself slipped in only one instance and slid down several feet in a rain of pebbles and dust before coming to rest on a more solid patch of ground. Khelgar's center of gravity was low enough to the ground for the dwarf to be able to keep his balance, and Neeshka's lightning reflexes served the tiefling as well as ever, but the rest of the group slid and stumbled and tumbled more than they ran.

They made it past the spot where there had once been a rock slide, past the cave where they had spent the night. It was at this point that the nagging feeling Brianna had cultivated throughout their escape turned into yet another full-blown alarm inside her head.

They were about to re-enter the dangerous, narrow path they had walked on their way to the Bonegnasher lair. The path which snaked and twisted its way right next to the most dangerous drop they had encountered in the Sword Mountains thus far. Even at a slow pace, coming the other way, she had been afraid for her life on the damned trail.

"We can't go that way," she gasped out. "Stop!"

The entire group slid to an uncertain halt. There was a yowling sound further up the mountain, and they turned their heads. Dark, moving shapes stood out on the light gray slope. The orcs had found a way out of their cave. The seasoned fighters. Those they had tried all they could to avoid engaging with.

"Lieutenant, we've got to go." Willem sounded as desperate as they probably all were.

"Going back on that trail while we're being pursued will kill us." Brianna pointed at the much broader path leading east, in the opposite direction. "We've got to go further down."

"We'll be lost," Sandrik protested.

"We'll be alive," she countered sharply. "We can worry about being on the right track later, but these orcs are more at home here than we are, and if we slow down to avoid falling to our deaths they'll catch up to us. We _need_ to lose them before we do anything."

"Then let's stand and fight!" Sandrik failed miserably at sounding confident

"The lass is usually right." Khelgar peered up at the approaching orcs. More of them had made it out of the cave. Brianna now counted twelve dark shapes total. "Mind ye, I can take a few orcs at once, but not the lot of them."

"And we're all exhausted and weak because we haven't had any water." Willem could barely keep himself upright.

"I'm nearly out of magic," Qara pointed out, sounding reluctant.

An arrow sailed past them and buried itself into the ground a finger's width from Elis' boot. The greycloak stumbled backwards, looking pale.

"Terrible choice for a battlefield," Brianna hissed. "They've got the high ground on us. We need to keep moving until this path evens out, at the very least."

"Then let's go already before we're sieves," Neeshka yelled shrilly. The tiefling was already moving down the broader path, and Brianna followed her without further argument, or even without turning once to make sure that the rest of the group was following.

* * *

She had no idea for how long they were running. Her legs were numb. Every inch of her skin felt bruised and scraped from falling repeatedly.

The path had leveled out a bit before climbing again and finally leading them to an enclosed pass, which at least didn't offer the possibility of deadly falls due to the solid rock walls on either side. They were making fairly decent progress up until the point when a lucky shot from their pursuers pierced Khelgar's calf and sent the dwarf sprawling.

"Minor wound," the dwarf gasped stubbornly when they doubled back to help him up. "Won't slow me much."

"We can't afford to slow down any," Willem shouted amongst ragged breaths, as though senseless anger would fix Khelgar's wound.

Brianna looked from one of her companions to the next in search for a way to escape the nearing onslaught, but her mind was blank. There was nothing she could think of, nothing they could do apart from meeting far over a dozen bloodthirsty, pissed-off orcs in straight combat. Considering that her legs would barely support her, her lungs were burning and her entire body felt like lead, she did not like her odds.

_By the gods, this is really it. They are going to hack us to pieces. _

"Weapons out," she said unnecessarily, because by then, the orcs were coming around the bend, and charging.

Willem loosened two arrows into Yaisog's torso, but the chieftain shrugged them off as though they were bug bites. Qara threw one last wall of fire before the orcs and collapsed in a heap, but most of them leaped through the flames without hesitation. The air was ripe with the smell of singed haired

Brianna entertained the idea of just plain running. If she dropped her sword and got the hells away from the carnage, she might survive. Neeshka might follow, but Qara would not be able to run, Khelgar would have to stay to fight it out, and the greycloaks had too much honor to abandon the dwarf and the sorceress. Those five together might be able to hold back the orcs long enough for her to get out of their reach for good.

But then she would be stranded in the middle of the mountains, with no water, no guide, and no idea what in the hells to do next. All it would lead to was her dying some other way, maybe a few hours or a few days later than it would happen if she stayed.

If she fought it out along with the others, there was at least the tiny chance that they would prevail.

So she grimly pressed her lips together and met the first orc's mace with one hell of a swing of her sword.

Cormick had trained her to approach combat with an analytical mind and a large variety of tactics depending on who or what she was facing. He had wanted her to be prepared, to keep a clear head when she was in battle in order to keep the upper hand. The truth was though that when surrounded by orcs on all sides who were swinging blood-encrusted weapons and out to spill some guts, tactics tended to go out the window. Her mind was too busy screaming in utter terror to think analytically.

But maybe, just maybe, it was a good thing that she wasn't thinking, because it allowed her muscles to react to keep her alive without interference from her mind. She moved on pure instinct, blocking whatever swing she spotted first and shifting her body out of the way of a second, feeling a third glancing off her armor as she twisted to the side and wasted a single moment to silently thank Neeshka for the amulet the tiefling had gifted her.

She lost track of what was happening around her. Every part of her was focused on staying alive, and she blocked or countered swing after swing, and then something cracked painfully against her ribs and still she fought to raise her sword through the haze of pain to block again, and again, and again. Her world had narrowed to beastly faces, vicious snarls and gleaming tusks, to the stink of orc and blood and singed hair, constantly closer and stronger, beating down on her and making sure she knew that there was no way for her to overcome them. But she was too stubborn to let them kill her, so she kept up her desperate fight.

She hadn't a clue what to make of it when something collided with the skull of Yaisog Bonegnasher and sent him flying through the air. A figure appeared in the gap the orc chieftain had left. A human one, tall, dark, polished armor gleaming.

There was no time for questions, so Brianna gave herself a fraction of a second to take it all in before she snapped back into her fighting mode. She landed a hit on the orc to her right, who stumbled back and into a waiting greatsword. The attacker to her left had meanwhile turned and was engaging yet another fighter. Putting her blade into the orc's back felt like the easiest thing she had ever done.

It was, for all intents and purposes, over after that. The rest of the orcs fell easily, overwhelmed and outnumbered, to the blades of whoever had come to their aid.

Once the immediate danger was over, Brianna's focus faltered. Black spots danced at the edge of her vision as her legs gave way. She fell inelegantly to the ground on all fours and stayed there, because she knew that any attempt to get up again before she'd had some rest would be futile.

Instead, she focused on the tall warrior clad in now blood-splattered but otherwise immaculate plate mail. The man who had, much as it galled her, saved her life.

There wasn't a question about him being the one leading the small group of men and women who now crowded around Brianna and her companions. Without any doubt she read him as one of these rare people who naturally assumed the mantle of responsibility and were suited to it, and there was something about him… something she couldn't quite explain. He seemed to be radiating valor. It intrigued her, but at the same time it made her feel manipulated, like he was reaching into her mind to give her this impression.

"Oh hells," Neeshka whispered nearby. Brianna turned and found the tiefling crouched a few feet away and bleeding from several wounds. "Hells hells hells. Not that, too."

Her mouth opened, but her mind overwrote _Are you alright?_ with a much simpler "What?"

"He's a paladin," Neeshka informed her gravely. "His aura makes my skin itch."

"A paladin," Brianna repeated blankly. "Well, at least he probably won't try to kill us, then."

The man in question had meanwhile caught his breath and was giving hurried instructions to those under his command. The men and women, all of whom were armored, but none as heavily as the paladin, scattered to tend to Brianna's companions.

"Might I inquire as to who leads your group?" The man's voice was deep and authoritative, yet polite. It was the kind of voice that one could get lost listening to. Brianna blinked when she realized, belatedly, that she probably ought to say something. After all, it was bound to be difficult for anyone to identify her as the leader of the group when she herself didn't even feel qualified for the position half the time. And it was doubtlessly rude to leave the man guessing at random.

"Um, that'd be me, I suppose." She smiled weakly. "Hello."

He stepped over to her and knelt, so they could see eye to eye. With the plate mail he was wearing, it looked damned uncomfortable.

"Are you injured, my lady?" he asked.

She stared. Not once in all of her life had anyone called her 'my lady', not even in jest. Yet the paladin's tone of voice suggested that he considered it a common courtesy. It actually took her mind several seconds to remember what in the hells he had asked, and she felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment.

"I think I… just scrapes, mostly." She took a quick inventory of her body, because considering what she had just been through, she wouldn't have been surprised if she had missed being stabbed somewhere. "And exhaustion," she added when she recalled that she could not feel her legs.

"Please allow me." He reached out with one hand, but waited until she gave a reluctant nod before he actually touched her, just below her left temple.

At first, nothing happened. Then she felt a tingle at the point where his fingers were in contact with her skin, a rather pleasant one. It remained for a moment, as though focusing, and then it spread and raced along her skin and through her veins like lightning. She followed along with her mind, and for a moment she could feel every single cell in her body as it was energized, as her muscles relaxed and stopped being sore and her skin knit itself back together over the multitude of abrasions she had acquired.

She heard herself gasp from somewhere far away. When she opened her eyes, she found herself looking directly into those of the paladin. She drowned in striking, steely blue.

He blinked, breaking whatever trance she had found herself in. When he moved away, she even remembered she had a voice.

"What in the nine hells did you just do?"

A bit belatedly, she wondered whether a paladin might react to swearing in a similar manner that Brother Merring had, back in West Harbor.

_Oh well, too late now._

"Forgive me," he asked, without giving the slightest indication that she might have offended him. "I should have explained. I assumed that you had experienced a Paladin's touch before."

"Never met one before," she admitted.

"Let me introduce myself, then." He lowered his head briefly. "My name is Casavir."

"I'm Brianna." She gave him a thin smile, which he did not return. His eyes had wandered down to the insignia on her cloak.

"You are a Lieutenant of the Neverwinter Watch, I see."

"Yeah. Don't hold it against me, will you?"

She had said it half in jest, but he blinked and looked unsure of what to reply. Just as he appeared to have come to a conclusion, the steps of an approaching fighter crunched on the gravel.

"Casavir, sir."

They both turned their head in unison.

The woman approaching them still had blood on her hands from tending to the injuries of Brianna's companions. She was tall and quite pretty, and she carried her huge sword as though it only had about a tenth of its actual weight.

"We have done what we could for the injured," she reported. "But the men are tired and it is late. We had best find a place to make camp for the night."

The paladin nodded gravely.

"Thank you, Katriona," he said to the woman, who seemed to want to say more, but fell silent when Casavir turned back towards Brianna.

"Will you do us the honor of sharing camp with us this night?"

His question was polite and completely without sarcasm, but Brianna still felt like he had made a bad joke.

_How in the hells could I refuse, with everyone else in as bad a shape as they are? They'd overrule me and throw me down the mountain if I said no._

"Sure," she said out loud. She didn't even bother trying to find words to match the politeness of his own. She wouldn't have been able to get them across her tongue.

Instead, she got to her feet and turned to help up Neeshka as well, who was draining the remaining third of a healing potion. Brianna was relieved to see that the worst of Neeshka's wounds had stopped their bleeding and begun to close. Her friend accepted the help gratefully.

"So whatcha think?" the tiefling asked, once they had moved out of earshot, and nodded towards the paladin. "Typical holy warrior, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't know," Brianna told her. "He's the first one I've met."

"Oh, well, lucky you." Neeshka did not seem overjoyed by the prospect of sharing camp with Casavir.

"Are they all this damn polite?" Brianna asked before she could stop herself. Neehshka grimaced.

"To you he would be. To me… probably not so much. Those guys tend to think my demon blood is bound to corrupt their holiness or something."

"Are they all this damn _severe_?"

This time, Neeshka just snorted. "Oh, you have no idea."

"Brilliant," Brianna muttered. So she owed her life to a holy warrior who went through life looking like he'd just bitten into a sour apple. "Come on. We do need a rest."

"Well, on the bright side," Neeshka pointed out as she fell into step beside Brianna, "you do realize we've just met Katalmach, don't you?"

* * *

"You know that Commander Callum has been trying to make contact with you, right?"

Brianna looked at Casavir over the rim of her cup as she asked the question. The paladin did not meet her eyes.

"I am aware," he said, his voice flat. His demeanor did not invite further questions on the subject, so Brianna dropped it and breached another.

"What exactly is it you all are doing here anyway? Hunting orcs for sport?"

She saw the momentary tensing of his jaw and realized she had, without meaning to, found yet another sore spot.

_One more thing learned today. Conversation with a paladin is about as pleasant as pulling teeth. And akin to sprinting through a trap-filled dungeon._

"I think the real question is, what are you doing out here in the mountains." It was the tall woman, Katriona, who was speaking now. Brianna had realized not too long ago that she was Casavir's second in command, which made her wonder whether she should have had a second in command as well. She'd never really thought about it until now.

"We have been hunting orcs throughout the mountains for a good while," Katriona continued. "You lot look a little out of place here though. No offense." Her tone made it clear that she was sick of Brianna being the one to ask all the questions.

"True," Brianna shrugged, and leaned back against her pack as she mulled over her words in her head. "As Casavir pointed out earlier, I'm with the City Watch of Neverwinter. Not really one for the mountains, but they sent me out here to find a missing emissary of Waterdeep that was attacked in the Bonegnasher territory."

Katriona and the paladin exchanged a look.

"This would explain some things," Casavir said slowly. "Especially some recent orc movements that were not making sense to me."

Brianna took another sip of water. "Like what?"

"We came across the remains of an orc raid not too long ago." The paladin frowned into the fire. "I was struck by the ferocity of the attack, and puzzled by the boldness they displayed attacking such a well-armed force."

"The emissary's escort," Brianna stated.

Casavir gave her a nod and rubbed his palm across his face. He looked even older when he frowned.

"We pursued the orc force responsible for the attack. Their reaction to our attack was… different." He lifted his eyes and looked into hers. "Ordinarily, orcs, while vicious and skilled, lack organization. Not so this group. Their rear guard delayed us while the main force fled, all clustered around a single point."

"That must have been the emissary," Willem stated the obvious. The greycloak scout had moved closer to them and seemed intent on taking part in the conversation.

"Given what I know now, it seems obvious," Casavir agreed.

"But you lost his trail?" Brianna asked. Considering that her talk with Yaisog Bonegnasher had resulted in less than she had hoped for, she welcomed this possible new lead.

"I thought we had, for a good while," the paladin admitted. "We did our best to follow though, and with luck, one of our scouts stumbled upon the hidden trail to their lair."

"So you know where it is?" Brianna sat up straight. She was chewing her lip and trying to contain her sudden excitement.

Casavir nodded. "The Eyegougers keep themselves well hidden. Even we would have missed the trail, if not by chance."

"You intend to attack the lair?" That was Katriona.

"I haven't got much of a choice," Brianna admitted. "I need to get that emissary back."

_Else I'll be stuck on these damned mountains for all eternity._

She looked around from her own companions to those of the paladin, a thought entering her head. "Will you join me? Together we stand a good chance of fighting our way trough that lair. And Logram Eyegouger, their war chieftain, is the one organizing the attacks on the well, so if we could put him down…"

"The orcs would be in disarray." Casavir's voice, for the very first time since Brianna had met him, contained a hint of excitement. "The greycloaks at Old Owl Well would be able to build up their defenses without constant interruptions."

"That _is_ what you were doing here, isn't it?" Brianna gestured around the camp. "Helping the greycloaks? Even though you were avoiding them?"

Casavir's short nod was all the answer she needed.

"We will combine our forces for an assault, then, I suppose." Katriona sounded a bit skeptical. Brianna couldn't fault her for it. She might have been wary too, if she had been asked to fight alongside a kleptomaniac tiefling, a pouting sorceress and a couple of fledgling greycloaks, not to mention a lieutenant of the Watch who seemed to have no clue what in the hells she was doing.

But for Brianna, it was a welcome break. Apart from Khelgar, none of them were seasoned fighters, which made their mission all the more dangerous. Casavir, Katriona, and the rest of their small force, however, seemed well-trained and experienced enough.

"We will make for the Eyegouger lair in the morning, then," Casavir announced to everyone assembled around the campfire, which included Brianna's companions and six armored fighters apart from Katriona and the paladin. "It won't be an easy march, so be sure to get your rest tonight."

_Yeah, what he said._

Brianna was a bit disgruntled by him taking command over their combined forces so easily, despite the fact that she hadn't really wanted the responsibility in the first place.

"Have we got a watch schedule worked out?" she thought to ask, but Katriona dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

"We will keep our regular schedule. You just rest, and be ready."

Brianna swallowed the rather rude reply tickling her tongue.

_Apparently I've just been usurped. Lovely._


	28. Human Nature

**Human Nature  
**

She woke, quite abruptly, at dawn.

The sun had not yet touched the horizon, but the eastern sky was alight with rich orange-gold. Brianna carefully extracted herself from Neeshka's limbs and let her eyes feast on the picturesque mountaintops framed by burning clouds, while she tried to figure out what had woken her.

It might have been difficult to figure out if Casavir had been more adept at sneaking. He was not, however, so she found it easy to follow the trail of dislodged pebbles and dust up to a plateau overlooking the smaller peaks below.

The view was breathtaking. Through the clear morning air, she could see every detail, but they were so far up that most objects below appeared only as tiny dots in her field of vision.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Casavir asked.

He did not seem surprised to see her. She turned and faced him, watching as he rose from his kneeling position. He had obviously been praying.

"Do you follow the Morninglord then?" she asked the first thing that came to her mind. She couldn't quite picture the serious paladin being a follower of the god of fertility and creativity, but there were stranger things in the realms. Besides, the only other person she knew who got up this early every single morning for his devotions was Brother Merring from West Harbor, himself a cleric of Lathander as well.

Casavir looked at her silently for a moment before he reached beneath the collar of his tunic and fished out the delicate symbol of faith he wore around his neck. She stepped forward and recognized the balancing scales framed by a shield at once.

"Tyr."

She should not have been surprised, considering Casavir's austere disposition. The Maimed God was not exactly known for his sense of humor.

"Why do you pray this early in the morning, then?" she demanded to know.

Casavir tucked the symbol back beneath his tunic before he answered.

"It helps me focus my thoughts and my strength for the day ahead. I have found that I am more receptive to Tyr's guidance early in the day."

He turned toward the horizon then, and knelt again. Lacking a worthy reply, and thinking he might be upset if she disturbed him again, Brianna joined him in watching the sunrise.

Every one in a while, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, as though it would allow her to see something about him that a regular look would not. The paladin was not an easy one to figure out for her. Though he seemed simple enough on the surface, serious, dutiful and honorable, it was as though his holy aura kept her from seeing what lay beneath those traits. She could not get a sense of what sort of person he was beneath, and it bothered her. People she could not figure out were a lot more difficult for her to deal with.

"I owe you an apology."

When she turned to face him again, he was still looking east. His face, as she had expected, was expressionless. She hadn't a clue what he was talking about, either.

"For what?"

"Something was bothering me last night, a nagging feeling at the edge of my mind. I did not realize until I woke this morning where it came from."

Puzzled, she remained silent.

"I should not have given orders to your soldiers without consulting you," he elaborated. "It was not my place."

"You just told them to go to bed," Brianna said blankly. She _had_ been irritated about it, but it seemed a petty thing to demand an apology for.

"Nevertheless, I am ashamed that I undermined your authority."

"Hm." She lowered her head and focused her eyes upon the dusty ground. "Well, I appreciate that."

It occurred to her that it might have been her reaction to his orders last night that had prompted his apology, not the orders themselves. He might have noticed her displeasure, though she was fairly sure she had not made it too obvious. The thought of anyone reading her that easily did not sit well with her.

She heard him sigh and, when she raised her head again, found that he was watching her. He was still on his knees, though his body was more relaxed now and he was leaning onto his hand to be able to look at her.

"You are upset," he remarked.

_Hells!_

She was certain her face had not betrayed her emotions. She had learned to keep them hidden a long time ago, and she knew she was quite good at it.

"No I'm not," she said, and took care to give her voice only the slightest hint of startled perplexity.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. He regarded her for a moment longer before he finally replied.

"Tyr allows me to detect blatant falsehoods, you know."

"What?" she asked incredulously.

He was polite enough to turn his head and look toward the horizon once more while she came to terms with this revelation.

"You mean you can tell when I'm lying?"

"Yes," he said simply.

Her mind raced through every word she could remember saying in his presence, this day and the previous. When she realized that there had been little opportunity or reason for her to make up something out of the blue, she relaxed marginally.

"So you were only guessing that I was upset," she accused him. "Until I told you I wasn't."

He looked at her for several seconds, and Brianna's mind sensed a pattern. Casavir was someone who chose his words very carefully. Before every answer, he seemed to take his time deciding exactly what he wanted to express.

"I felt your mood," he told her then. "It was… disturbing your aura."

"So you always know the way people feel, too?"

"Not always, no." He finally looked at her again. "I sense mood changes quite rarely, actually."

She opened her mouth to say something, paused to consider the truth value of the possible statement, and finally decided that, since he would know a lie anyway, she might as well be blunt in her honesty.

"That is very disconcerting."

"I apologize." He pushed himself up with his hands to get to his feet again. When he offered her his hand, Brianna took it and let him pull her into a standing position.

"Will you tell me why you are upset?" he asked then. Her hand was still in his. She pulled it back hastily and looked towards the ground as they started making their way back down the incline.

Obviously, lying would be futile, but she had a feeling that the paladin would not push further if she told him no.

_And would telling him the truth be so terrible? _

Brianna considered it. She was upset because her carefully crafted walls seemed to crumble before Casavir, and she relied on these walls. He made her feel unprotected, naked and useless. One of her greatest strengths lay in making others believe a truth in her words that did not exist, and his mere presence took that strength from her. She hated the feeling.

"I'd really rather not talk about it," she said quietly, and he nodded his acceptance before they went to rejoin the rest of their mixed group.

* * *

They packed up camp soon after the sun had fully emerged, and traversed the mountains in a northeastern direction for most of the day. Katriona set a swift pace. It led to nobody having much breath for talking.

Brianna enjoyed not bearing the responsibility of keeping everyone moving fast for once. Elis, who had never seemed to hold much stock in whatever Brianna said, seemed positively terrified of getting on Katriona's bad side. The young greycloak was scrambling to keep the pace. Qara appeared to be less impressed by the blond woman's manner of encouragement. But even the sorceress kept up with the group, though she shot glares at everyone who dared look her way.

When evening came around, Brianna was ready to collapse into her bedroll.

They set up camp beneath a wind-sheltered overhang. The sun had already vanished by the time Brianna spread her bedroll on the rocks, and she shivered with cold. Her cloak could not hold off the evening chill completely. Neeshka looked just a miserable under her hood, and the two girls watched anxiously as Willem and one of Casavir's men attempted to get a fire going.

Finally Qara, with a rather ugly smirk on her face, stretched out her hand and sent a jet of fire into the tinder. Willem stumbled backwards with a start as flames shot into the air.

"Amateurs," she smiled and turned her back on them.

"Oh, nice going." Willem peered into the fire. "You managed to burn half the wood to ash already. Now we definitely won't have enough to last us the night."

"So? And why is that my problem?"

Qara hadn't had an outburst in a while, so Brianna supposed they had been about due anyway. She just wished it wouldn't have served as yet another demonstration of her incompetence as a leader.

"I am making it your problem." Brianna nearly groaned when she heard Katriona's voice. "I won't have us all freeze just because you felt like showing off."

"And what are you going to do, hm?"

Qara had whirled around and raised her hands, ready to cast. There were small, bluish flames flickering between her fingers. Katriona, who did not seem to have expected this level of disobedience, took a step back, her eyes widening.

_Oh hells, how stupid can that spoiled little bitch even get? _

Nothing good could come of Qara's little demonstration of brattiness, but Brianna seriously doubted the sorceress had thought that far ahead. Unfortunately, the lack of foresight only served to make her all the more dangerous.

A bit late, Brianna realized that quite a few pairs of eyes were turned her way.

_Go figure. First I'm deemed unfit for command, now they all expect me to handle the sticky situation._

She stepped closer to the scene, trying to think of what to say, and waiting for an opportunity to say it.

"Don't do anything stupid," Katriona tried to calm the girl, but she used the exact wrong words.

"The only stupid thing I have done all day was to let you boss me around," Qara snarled. "Who in the hells are you to tell me what to do?"

"No one wanted to upset you by what they said today." Casavir was approaching slowly. He had his hands held out in a calming gesture that Brianna knew wasn't going to impress Qara. "I know you do not really want to hurt any of us."

"Oh yeah?" Qara asked defiantly. She flicked her fingers.

The campfire exploded and showered everyone with a rain of sparks. Several people yelped and leaped away, but Brianna, who had seen this trick of Qara's before, had half expected it. She took several steps towards the sorceress while Qara was distracted.

"Stop it right now, or I'll break your fingers."

It was the only threat she could think of that might give the sorceress pause. It was rather difficult to cast any spell without the delicate hand movements.

Qara went slightly pale and glanced towards Brianna.

"You wouldn't," she hissed, and the flames sprung from her hands again. "You miserable excuse for a swamp farmer, even you wouldn't go that far!"

_Bluff called. Or not, as the case may be._

She crouched and leaped forward, ramming her shoulder firmly into Qara's midsection. It wasn't the smartest thing she could have done, and there was definitely a possibility that she might have been able to talk Qara down and out of trying to torch everyone, but Brianna had something slightly different at the forefront of her mind as they both went down.

Whatever other issues there might have been with her being a leader, it was high time for her to make sure everyone knew that she didn't make idle threats. She was too sick and tired of not being taken seriously.

Her hands found Qara's while they wrestled clumsily on the stony ground. She knew there was no sense in wasting time until the other girl got a spell off, so she grabbed a hold of one bony finger and jerked it deftly back until she felt a rather sickening crunch.

Qara screamed.

Brianna had a feeling that at least one of the people standing by was about to interfere, so she preempted them by extracting herself from the limbs that were holding her captive, and stumbling back several steps. Neeshka caught her before she stepped right into the campfire.

For several long moments, everyone seemed frozen.

Most of the crowd near the fire appeared to be wearing looks of distinct discomfort, apart from Neeshka, who had molded her face into the most neutral expression she could manage, and Qara, who was busy being curled into a ball and whimpering. Brianna clenched her teeth when she realized that most of the disapproval seemed to be directed her way.

_I kept her from giving everyone some serious burns. Most of you wouldn't even have had the guts to do what I did, but I am not surprised you're happy to stand by and complain about my methods._

It wasn't like being ostracized was anything new for her to deal with.

She kept her face as blank as possible while Katriona stepped up to the girl sobbing amidst a pile of dusty robes, probably in an attempt to comfort.

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that," Sandrik whispered. Brianna was in agreement until she noticed that he was addressing her instead of Qara.

_You have got to be kidding me._

It was Casavir who managed to diffuse the situation with some finality. The paladin passed out dried trail rations to everyone and politely asked two of his men to fetch more firewood before it got too dark to do so. They went without argument.

Brianna felt compelled to chew on the salty strip of meat Casavir had pressed into her hand. She sat by the fire, next to Neeshka, and ground the tough meat with her teeth rather more forcefully than strictly necessary while she tried to calm the raw fury that boiled up inside her.

_Interesting priorities they all have. Rather quick to forgive she was about to roast someone, just because she was stupid enough to get herself hurt._

The silence around the campfire was heavy, and rife with awkwardness. It stayed that way for much of the evening.

Eventually, Brianna got sick of the nervous glances, so she found a spot away from the fire and went through her drills. She was sore from the hard march, but it wasn't an excuse to be lazy about practicing the skills that ensured her continued survival.

She was halfway through the routine wielding with her left when she realized that she was being watched. Katriona was standing in the shadows not too far away.

_Hells, she is going to try and lecture me, isn't she?_

"I do believe it is common courtesy to announce your presence," she said in the direction of the woman. She did not bother hiding her displeasure.

"My apologies," Katriona said smoothly, and stepped closer, out of the shadow of the mountain. "I was trying not to interrupt."

"Well, you did anyway." Brianna lowered her sword and suppressed a sigh. "Why don't you just say what you came here to say, then?"

The small smile that played around the woman's mouth was not a nice one. "Very well," Katriona shrugged. "Who are you, really?"

Brianna raised her eyebrows quizzically. "Sorry?"

"I'm not stupid." Katriona crossed her arms before her chest. "You say you are with the Neverwinter Watch, but you do not act like it. Your traveling companions are among the strangest I have ever seen. The story you gave us does not fit. Why are you really here?"

Brianna couldn't help the bitter laugh that bubbled up in her chest.

"You're one to talk. Chasing orcs across the entirety of these damned mountains for no apparent reason while taking pains to avoid those who would be your allies!"

"That has got nothing to do with it!" Katriona shouted. She was one of those rare women who managed to look quite pretty when they were angry, Brianna noticed.

"It has got everything to do with it," she replied. "Who in the hells are you people?"

"I am asking you the same." Katriona was glaring, as though having asked first should have awarded her special rights. "My men and I deserve to know who is fighting by our side."

Brianna couldn't help but smile at the apparent impasse. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," she suggested almost playfully.

Katriona's eyes narrowed. "Not without Casavir's consent."

"Let's go ask him then," Brianna shrugged, and turned towards the campfire to hide the slight smile she knew still had to be on her lips.

_It would appear that the best defense really is a good offense, after all._

* * *

"I came to Old Owl Well to help those who were suffering the most by the Orcs holding the well." Casavir's voice just barely surpassed the crackling of the fire and the howling of the wind far above their heads. "Neverwinter did not send aid when the farmers asked for it, so I took it upon myself to help."

"Why?" Brianna asked. They had agreed on having an open discussion, with anyone allowed to ask questions as to remove any lingering doubts and be able to trust one another as much as possible.

Casavir raised his head and looked at her across the flames. His eyes, normally bright and unsettling, were bottomless wells of darkness in the sparse illumination.

"They needed help," the paladin replied. "I felt it was the right thing to do."

Brianna closed her eyes as her mind reviewed the statement with lightning speed.

"So you are from Neverwinter," she figured, though the conclusion was not far. "I remember hearing that the disciples of Tyr follow all established laws, as long as they are just, so why did you leave and start fighting the orcs on your own? Neverwinter _does_ have a force at the well."

"They do now." Casavir's voice betrayed his bitterness. "They aim to keep the trade routes open, that is why the council sent them in the first place. Profit is the one thing on the minds of those who sit in the council. Before, when it was only the farmers near the well complaining, they payed it no mind."

"So you went to the Sword Mountains to help." Brianna strove to keep her voice calm. Now that she was finally getting answers, the last thing she needed was for the paladin or his followers to get defensive.

Casavir nodded.

"I went alone. I do not wish to discuss the reasons for my leaving Neverwinter, but I will say that I was trying to make good on treaties the council never acknowledged. I hoped to make a difference."

"And he met us," Katriona took over. "I was just a farmer when he first came to Old Owl Well, as were most of the others. My husband died by the hand of an orc. I decided to follow Casavir because there was little else left for me, after."

"That doesn't explain why you continue to evade the men Callum sent to contact you," Brianna pointed out. "Why hide, when you could be much more effective against the orcs if you were working directly with the greycloaks?"

"That was Casavir's choice," Katriona replied.

One look at the paladin made it clear to Brianna that he would not be willing to discuss whatever issues he apparently had with the Neverwinter forces. The paladin was not likely to lie to her however, or to let Katriona do the same, so it was a safe guess that what the woman had told her was indeed the truth. As much of it as she was going to get, anyway.

"Your turn," Katriona said.

_Ah, yes, the grand tale of Brianna Storm._

She settled back against her pack, next to Neeshka, and chose her next words very carefully indeed.

"I _am_ a member of the Neverwinter Watch, though I haven't been for very long. I used to live in a village in the Mere of Dead Men, but my foster father sent me away to my uncle in Neverwinter."

"Why?" Katriona asked. Brianna though was rather nosy of her.

"My foster father is not a very pleasant man," she replied, which was technically true, though of course not the answer to Katriona's question. "I met Khelgar and Neeshka on my way to the city. The roads are quite dangerous for lone travelers, so we joined forces. Once I was in Neverwinter, I joined the Watch."

"And how did you become a lieutenant?" Elis asked, sounding skeptical.

Brianna did not dignify the implied insult with a reaction.

"A lieutenant from my station was murdered, and I was up for promotion. I did good work," she emphasized sharply when Elis opened her mouth again. "Don't you dare speculate that it was for any other reason."

"So why did the others stay with you, then?" It was Sandrik, of all people, asking this question with the obvious intent of preventing yet another round of spatting. Brianna only gave him a shrug.

"You would have to ask them that."

Heads turned. Khelgar harrumphed when he found most everyone's attention to be on him.

"The lass needs some looking out fer," was his only comment.

"And she saved my life," Neeshka added. "Plus, not like I had anything better to do."

That, of course, scored major points with the paladin. When Brianna glanced up at Casavir, she found him looking suitably impressed.

"And what about _her_?" one of Casavir's men asked, pointing at Qara as though she was a glob of slime on the ground that he thought needed cleaning up. Casavir had healed the girl's broken finger earlier, but she was still sulking.

"None of your damn business," Qara growled at him. It took no more for Brianna to decide to tell the story anyway.

"She tried to set my uncle's inn on fire," she reported, and enjoyed the looks on her listeners' faces, especially Casavir's when the paladin realized that she was still telling the truth. "I should have arrested her, of course, but I decided to take her with me instead. I think letting her help me, and helping her to learn how to control her temper, is better for her than being imprisoned, in the long run."

She put a saintly smile on her face and ignored Qara's furious scowl.

"Any more questions on the matter?"

* * *

"It is a kind thing you did, helping Qara," Casavir told her the next morning. Once again Brianna had been woken by the Paladin trying but failing to be quiet when he went to have his morning prayers. She rather hoped that it would not become a habit.

"She is dangerous." Brianna didn't take her eyes from Casavir, trying to gauge his reaction to her words. He appeared to be taking her at face value.

_Perfect._

"She had a great deal of natural power, and I don't think she ever had the opportunity to learn how to use it properly. Or maybe she did, but was too stubborn to take it."

Casavir had dropped his hands into his lap and was looking thoughtful.

"I cannot help but think that she needs guidance," he said. "And maybe you could be the one giving it to her."

The safest reaction to this statement, Brianna deduced rapidly, was to show no reaction at all. So she kept her face blank.

"Yes, maybe," she agreed.

"She is not an evil person," Casavir said, thoughtfully, "but she is.."

"Out of control," Brianna finished his sentence. "And that isn't all of it." She locked her eyes with his.

"What I did last night, I did for good reason. I know Qara. I have seen her throw flames into people's faces and set fire to a roof, out of anger. I was there when she trapped someone in their home behind a curtain of flames because she wanted to see them burn and die."

No need to mention that this someone had been an orc chieftain out to kill them.

"She is very, very dangerous, Casavir," Brianna said softly. "And I could not bear the thought of anyone being badly hurt because of her, because of my decision to bring her along."

Full truth. She needed everyone at full strength for the attack on the Bonegnasher lair. Injuries were liabilities they could ill afford with so many orcs to take on.

She felt better than she had all night when she returned to camp only a few minutes later.

_See if Qara ever manages to turn people against me again._


	29. Carnage

**Carnage**

Brianna had never been particularly bothered by the deaths of those she cared nothing for. Death was natural, an inevitable part of the world, and she did not see the point in wasting emotion on something that did not affect her personally. Sometimes, when she herself took a life, her emotions were stirred. She had felt powerful and free after Wyl's death, satisfied and triumphant after Moire's. Other bodies she had left in her wake were just that – bodies. Granted, killing was never a pleasant matter all by itself, unless one enjoyed such things as the cracking sound of a skull about to cave in or the sight of someone holding their own guts in their bare hands. It was a nasty, nauseating business, but a necessary one, and no advantage came of dwelling on the underlying terror of it. So Brianna didn't.

But never in her life had she felt so completely numb and indifferent to the deaths she caused as she did now.

It was not the lack of time for her to process all the killing. It was not even her mind making a conscious effort to block out the sounds of bones breaking and the metallic smell of fresh blood that was in the air.

It was the fact that there was so much, too much death around her. The sight of death, and the smell of death, and the sound of death were so prevalent that her sensitivity to it had overloaded and shut down. The only thing left was the knowledge that she had to keep killing. And so she did.

All that mattered was death. The only thing her mind knew through the haze and the numbness was that she needed to keep fighting, and there was always another orc to put down, always another opening for her blade. She was caught up in that whirlwind of death, not taking even a second to think because she knew it was either kill or be killed, and thoughts wouldn't change that fact, but make it worse to bear.

She did not know for how long the whirlwind raged before it calmed. At some point, she found herself sitting down with her back against the wall of the cave, blinking slowly.

Her senses came trickling back to her, one by one.

_So much blood…_

The smell of it was overpowering, so thick in the air that Brianna very nearly started gagging. The taste of it was on her tongue. Her armor was near coated by the splatters.

Sweat ran freely down her face, and the skin it touched stung as though she was sweating acid. She pulled off her glove and wiped at it clumsily. Her hand came away bloody.

Her hands were another matter. Holding on to the grip of a sword so tightly for so long meant that her fingers were cramped and sore. She had switched hands once the pain had gotten to be too distracting, but still her palm stung, and when she tried to flatten her hand against the ground her fingers cramped so hard that a muffled sob of pain escaped her.

"Men," was the first word she could make out from the muffled background noise, and she closed her eyes and tried to listen, to allow all of the distractions she had tuned out during the fight to affect her again.

"Humans."

Casavir's voice, carrying a note of desperation, no, of shock.

"They were humans, they… I do not understand."

"Might they have been prisoners?" someone else suggested. Sweet, timid female voice. Elis.

Someone cried out roughly. There was a moment of silence, as though they were all holding their breath.

"_Armed_ prisoners who try to cut down their rescuers? I don't think so." Another female voice, strong, low and melodious, much more authoritative. Katriona.

"They might have been confused." Elis again, already doubting herself.

No one else said anything for a while, leaving Brianna to listen to ragged breathing and the scraping of metal on stone.

It seemed as good a time as any, so she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings for the first time.

They were in a separate room within the cave system, a widened dead end accessible through a door off to her left. Khelgar was standing guard by it. The dwarf was so covered in blood Brianna was not certain she could have made out his natural skin color just now. He had his jaw set, his face neutral, and was staring straight ahead.

To her right, the room opened to accommodate a several pieces of furniture that looked out of place in an orc cave, whose inhabitants tended to sleep on rags on the floor and wear the same clothes day in and day out. Yet there was a human-sized bed, and a wardrobe much like the one Brianna had had back in West Harbor, and she wondered what that meant.

Sandrik was lying on the bed. Brianna could make out his voice – he was the one screaming – but little else, because there were so many people crowded around him. Eventually her ears picked up Neeshka's voice, telling those holding Sandrik down to "hold him tighter", and after Brianna had sluggishly climbed to her feet, she understood.

What few healing potions they had were being saved for those injuries that were either immediately life-threatening or affecting fighting ability. Sandrik had sustained a deep, long pectoral cut that did not qualify for either of these, so Neeshka was stitching it up for the greycloak to keep him from bleeding out.

Casavir and Katriona were not part of the stitching-while-conscious procedure. Brianna staggered over to where they were kneeling next to a corpse that looked conspicuously not like an orc.

Casavir looked up at her before she had even said anything.

"They attacked us," he said, as though she had asked. "Along with the orcs. They are not dressed as prisoners, they carried weapons and they were well-trained. I cannot pretend to understand."

Brianna nodded and let her eyes rest on the face of the corpse. Male, dark hair, scruffy face, pale, almost sickly looking. Unremarkable. The left side of his skull had been crushed, likely the work of Casavir's hammer. She spotted fragments of bone amidst the hair matted with blood. Even more blood. Blood, everywhere, she felt it pulsate inside her in response, rushing through her body.

"Are you alright?" the Paladin asked.

She nodded automatically.

The blood kept rushing.

Her vision went dark, her knees gave way and she felt herself fall. The floor was hard.

The world blinked back into existence what felt like only seconds later. Sandrik was still screaming through whatever they had used to muffle his voice, and Casavir was holding her as though she were a precious doll made of glass.

She stared up into his bright, worried eyes.

"I apologize," he said, helping her sit upright. "I have spent what healing powers I have."

The mothering attitude did not sit well with her, despite the situation. Despite everything.

"I'm not injured," she forced out of her dry throat. She moved away from him, making him let go, but she knew she was not yet fit to get up on her own. So she spent her time looking around the room, trying to find a hint of who the man was that was laying there with his skull caved in, and the other, sitting against the wall a few feet away, his sword arm gone and his eyes empty.

"If they weren't prisoners, they were allies of the clan," she pointed out the obvious.

Katriona screwed up her face in distaste. "But who would do this? How depraved would any human being have to be to ally with the orc cause?"

"An enemy of Neverwinter." Casavir had joined the brainstorming.

"Or Waterdeep," Brianna suggested. "Maybe they were even behind the emissary's capture."

"Lending their aid to the orcs in exchange for the emissary, you mean?" Katriona's voice was bleak. "But why?"

"I don't know." Brianna let her eyes wander around the room. "And we probably won't stand a chance of figuring it out until we know who they are. Have you looked into that wardrobe?"

Katriona nodded. "Just robes in there, and a locked chest. They weren't suitable for bandages, so we let them be."

Brianna tried to get to her feet, but failed. "Can you bring that chest over here?" she asked.

Casavir could.

The lock was new, and good enough to keep out any nosy orcs, but not particularly intricate. Even with Brianna's hands still in pain and her fingers lacking feeling, she was able to crack it with one of Neeshka's simpler picks. The blade that lay inside brimmed with magic and was certainly worth keeping, but Brianna's interest was held by the small, leather-bound book that was tucked away in one corner of the chest. She reached for it and flipped it open.

"Any clues?" Casavir asked at once.

"There are names," she reported, "but I don't think…"

She trailed off when she realized what she was reading.

"Brianna?" the paladin asked.

"Subject Name: Kyleana of Waterdeep," she read aloud. "Elven female, brown hair, overweight for an elf. Physically weak. Captured near Helm's Hold. Mind snapped after four days of torture. Committed suicide."

Casavir went white as a sheet. "This isn't… "

"There is a whole analysis too." Brianna flipped a page. "About what went wrong, what whoever wrote this should do better next time."

"A torturer's journal," Katriona whispered. "By the gods, how barbaric."

Brianna's mind had already moved on.

"All these people are noted to be from Waterdeep," she realized, and flipped more pages. "And here is the emissary – Issani of Waterdeep. No mention of his death, though."

"Then he might yet live." Casavir's face had changed, from shock right to determination. "We might be able to rescue him and put a stop to the torturing. Find the monster who did this."

"There is something missing though." Brianna was flipping back through the pages. "Not once does the writer give away his goal, his reason for doing all this. I only see mentions of him trying to break them, or to turn them, but not why."

"The blackness of some souls knows no bounds. Does there have to be a reason?" Casavir asked darkly.

She spared him a single look.

"Yes," she said testily. "It's all a bit methodical for it to have no reason."

"So what now?" asked a voice behind them.

It was Neeshka, her eyes dull, her hands covered in Sandrik's blood.

Casavir glanced around the room. "If we are all recovered," the paladin said reluctantly, "we will need to move further. Find wherever they are holding Issani."

"I don't know if I can, right now" the tiefling admitted reluctantly. Her small, desperate tone resonated with Brianna, and she grasped the tiefling by the hand and pulled her down, into a tight hug.

"We are all exhausted." Katriona's voice had lost a little of its edge. "But we are going to die if we don't get moving soon."

"I know," Neeshka told her. "I know that."

It took a monumental effort to get back up and walk into the next fight. All Brianna really wanted to do was curl up underneath a blanket and sleep until it was all gone, until the blood had washed away and the memories of it had faded.

* * *

It was a neat little office built into a side passage in which they finally found the man to whom the journal belonged.

It was the same place in which they killed him. The place looked a little less neat after, a shelf now toppled over and books littering the floor.

While most everyone was sorting through the many documents, looking for information, Brianna stood over the body and looked down at the little man whose life they had just taken.

He hadn't stood a chance, and still he had decided to fight them. As though he had been afraid of what might happen if he attempted surrender, and probably for good reason. It was not exactly how she imagined someone who spent their time torturing people – all round cheeks and kindly face, small smile even in death. He had been so severely outnumbered that Brianna had not even managed to strike a single blow before he had gone down, rushed by Casavir and Khelgar and, of all people, Elis.

She wondered what he had offered the orcs in exchange for being allowed to go about his gruesome business in the depths of their lair. They were not exactly known for striking these sort of deals with humans, or anyone else for that matter. Coexistence in the same lair, research in torture. There was no way the little mage had been working by himself on all this. He had not been nearly powerful enough. Even though they had taken him by surprise, Brianna had expected him to put up more of a fight.

"Found something!" Neeshka announced. "Half-finished letter, right here." She waved it around. "It's something like a progress report. Talks about infiltrating Neverwinter."

"My assumption was correct, then," Casavir said slowly. "Enemies of Neverwinter, working to bring her down."

"There is more talk about breaking and turning people," Neeshka added, reversing the page. "Saying how they would have to break the emissary in order to use him to infiltrate. It's all very gross and very snivelling, by the way."

"So he was just an underling," Casavir said, sounding bitter. "The real perpetrator eludes us. Does it say on the letter who it was intended for?"

"L." Neeshka exaggerated the single letter, curling her tongue. "That's all it says."

"We will find whoever is responsible," Casavir announced, and there was no doubt it was a promise.

Brianna's mind dismissed the paladin's thirst for justice. As long as 'L' did not lurk within the cave, she could not have cared less. The emissary was her only goal.

"Did it occur to you that the 'L' might stand for Logram?" Willem asked. "Logram Eyegouger?"

"Doesn't make sense," Neeshka pointed out quickly. "Nobody writes letters to those they live in the same cave with. Besides, I've never met an orc that could read – not that I've bothered asking those orcs I've met. But you know what I mean." She shrugged.

"I found some scrolls," Qara, who had been rifling through the desk, announced suddenly. "They could come in handy. Our dead torturer friend had a sleep spell stashed away… a 'Ghoul Touch' spell and one that gives you waking nightmares. Sounds like he was planning a ton of fun."

"Can you use these?" Brianna asked, skeptically. "I thought you didn't do written spells."

"I did learn a few things during my time at the academy," Qara said contemptuously. "I _can_ read these. There are a few scrolls of diving magic I can't use though. Like this one, it's called…" She pulled a face as she read. "'Infestation of Maggots'. Ew."

Brianna's stomach lurched at the thought of being under the effect of a spell like that.

_Can't even express how glad I am that she cannot cast that. _

"We need to keep moving," Katriona warned. "Else the survivors will get organized and we may face attacks on two fronts."

"Right." Brianna gave herself a mental slap and stepped away from the corpse. "How much further in do you think, until we meet Logram?"

"It can't be far now. We're deep as can be in the damn mountain already." Neeshka pulled a face.

_Not far now. _

Brianna clung to the thought like a beacon, trying to motivate her sluggish body and unwilling mind.

_Soon, I'll taste the outside air again. Soon I'll have the emissary. Then I can turn my back to these blasted mountains for good. Then… Neverwinter. Sunken Flagon. Home._

* * *

Neeshka proved to be right.

Logram was waiting for them not much further, when the passage they followed bent and twisted and finally opened into something like a throne room, massive and lit by over a dozen torches.

Skulls had been carefully arranged as decorations, lining the walls and framing the bone-made throne at the far end of the hall. A walkway of simple woven mats was laid out, from the entrance they were standing by all the way to the throne. The ceiling was higher than in any other cavern they had been in this day.

Logram was not as one might expect, lounging on the aforementioned throne. Instead, he was walking towards them slowly, framed by his guard of eight massive orcs. The war chieftain's stance and the mace in his hand made it more than clear that there would be little talking.

They filed into the room quietly. Somberly. Brianna stepped forward next to Casavir and looked at Logram Eyegouger, hulking body, beastly face and all. But it was his eyes that disturbed her, the intelligence in his eyes, and the fact that he was looking straight back at her.

"Assassins?" he asked then, his eyes still on her. "So Neverwinter sends assassins to face me in battle? They dare not send their grey whelps?"

At this, Willem stepped forward, squaring his shoulders.

"We are not assassins," he said loudly and clearly, trying his very best to represent those of the camp at Old Owl Well.

"Your tribe attacked those who dared settle near the well," Casavir added, approaching as well. "We have come to put a stop to it."

Brianna saw no need to add to this simple and precise statement of their intent, but someone else did.

"And we have come to put a stop to whatever alliance you have forged with those who would torture innocents," Katriona said her bit.

The war chieftain's eyes wandered from end to the other of their little band of soldiers.

"And how will you do that if you're dead?" he asked.

Something tingled in Brianna's mind then, something told her that Logram would not lay open all of his cards like he apparently had. He would have left himself more defenses than just the eight guards crowded around him.

_Assassins._ He had thrown the accusation at them to cover his own tracks. He would not be fighting fair.

She whirled around, shouted a warning and met an oncoming axe just in time. Sandrik, sluggish due to his injury, was not so lucky. The second of the orcs that had crept up behind them crushed the boy's ribcage with one swing of his flail, and Sandrik was flung backwards, against one of the stalagmites, which he hit with a sickening crack before crumpling to the floor and laying there, very still. Too still.

For one moment, time seemed to freeze as everyone held their collective breaths.

Then the moment passed, and Khelgar hurled himself forward with a battle cry, and Casavir was doing the same. Orc guards crowded around them, out for blood.

Brianna attempted to parry each swing of the orc she was still engaged with, who was trying to force his way past her defenses with brute strength.

And she was tired, so very very tired. Each new swing parried threatened to bring her to her knees, Every time he swung again she prayed her arms would be able to bear it.

_I can't do it. Can't do it any more. Too tired. So very tired._

Disgusted, she tried to fight against the voice in her mind. She led a battle on two fronts, one against the orc and one against herself. Her muscles strained under the stress.

_Please just let me go to sleep. I am so tired._

Another attack warded off, and she felt herself slipping. Her palm was slippery with sweat, she could barely keep a hold of her sword. She switched hands and kept going.

_Shut up and focus,_ she told herself. _You can make it through this. Find an opening. Take it._

She caught the next blow just above the hilt, and her left arm went numb as well. She tried to raise her sword to counter him, but she was sluggish and tired, so tired…

A fiery missile streaked past her and splashed into the orc's face. He screamed and grunted and flailed, unable to see. She took the gift for what it was and ducked underneath the wild swings of his flail, stabbing at his legs. He fell, and she stomped on his fingers to make him let go of his weapon before she took her sword to his back.

After he was dead, she sank down next to the body, useless, empty. Nothing left. She gave Qara a nod of thanks, and then she watched the rest of the carnage, taking place some distance away, near the other end of the throne room.

Khelgar was fighting, sturdy and stubborn as always, with skill but little finesse. He swung his axe and cried his battle cries, and Neeshka moved with him in the shadows and used the distraction of the dwarf's opponents to her advantage, to help him. It made Brianna smile to see how well they worked together, after their initial suspicion of each other just after the tiefling had joined them back by Fort Locke. Granted, they still sniped at each other and traded insults round the campfire, but when it counted, they had learned to trust each other well enough. It was satisfying to see.

All this was nothing though compared to Casavir.

Brianna had not had the opportunity before to watch the paladin in the middle of a fight, she had always been too occupied with staying alive herself. Now, she finally understood why the orcs called him Katalmach. _He who loses himself in battle._

Because Casavir had lost himself. She could see it in his eyes as he turned and brought his hammer down yet again with all of his might. He was lost, and when they had talked he had been too guarded for Brianna to be able to spot the truth, to be able to see that there was something broken behind the clear blue eyes. But now, in battle, she could see it clearly. He was rage, and he was terror, and he was all those things she had not previously associated with the warrior of Tyr the even-handed. Casavir fought like he had nothing to lose. His rage and terror was in every swing he landed, every enemy he slew without regard for his own safety. There was no guard, no defense, only an offense so absolute that the orcs shrank back from his presence.

Logram fell to this absolute offense, eventually. Brianna watched near Qara, who had also sunk to the ground, her magic dry. Sandrik was still a pathetic heap at the foot of the stalagmite, and two more of Casavir's warriors had joined the unmoving bodies on the cave floor. Katriona beheaded an orc with one hard swing of her sword and turned to engage another, already fighting two of her men.

All throughout this, Casavir was driving Logram backwards with powerful swing after powerful swing. His hammer sung, Brianna could hear it all the way on the other side of the cave. She watched as Logram retreated another step, hulking body moving smoothly in blocking whatever Casavir threw at him, but he lost his footing for just a moment, one single moment which was all Casavir needed to lunge, leaving himself completely open as he executed a swing with enough momentum to send the large body of the orc chieftain tumbling and skidding until it hit a wall so hard the entire cave rumbled.

The war chieftain was tough, and the attack itself did not kill him. He took too long to recover from the terrible blow, however. As he tried to clamber to his feet, Casavir reached him and brought the hammer down with finality.

They did not allow themselves much time to grieve. As Katriona reluctantly pointed out, there were still orcs in the vicinity, and they were still in danger.

"Do not let their sacrifices be for nothing," she said, but the words didn't console Elis, who had been sitting for the past ten minutes, rocking back and forth clutching Sandrik's lifeless body. Her face was devoid of an expression, but the tears streamed down the girl's cheeks freely.

Casavir had taken a moment to pray over the two men he had lost. Two farmers, he had told Brianna as though she cared to know, who had left their families in order to join his cause. He looked guilt-stricken, and utterly exhausted.

Khelgar was sitting with Willem and Casavir's remaining men, a dwarf and five strong farmer's boys who had lines in their faces that made them look much older than they were. They were sharing a healing potion, passing it around like they might do with a flask of liquor around the campfire.

Neeshka and Katriona were the two people who appeared to have some energy remaining. The tiefling had decided to turn her attention to a locked room off to the side, and when she emerged again, she was busy lugging an entire chest Brianna's way.

"We'll need to divide what's in here in order to carry it out of here," she said wisely. "I'll distribute it, if that's alright."

Nobody minded, or had any energy left to protest, so the tiefling went to work.

Katriona, meanwhile, had vanished through yet another passage and was now returning with good news.

"It slopes upwards again," she reported. "Possibly a shortcut back outside, worth investigating. We might run into some more opposition though, so we should stick together."

Brianna took one last sip from the clay jug she had been drinking from, and staggered to her feet. Her body was close to its breaking point. If there was any further fighting ahead, she would be of little use. Her crossbow was useless in the cramped quarters, especially with her arms shaking too much to let her take proper aim. She knew Qara was out of the fight as well, and they had lost Sandrik, and with him gone Elis was useless – even more so than usual.

Brianna sighed and stumbled over to the still weeping girl. Someone had to get Elis up and moving, it might as well be her.

"We have to move on," she said, carefully, softly, because if she pushed Elis now, the girl would certainly break, and they could ill afford it. "Let him live in your memory."

Elis shook her head, sobbing.

"I can't."

Brianna thought for a moment, and then she reached forward, carefully, as not to alarm Elis, and unclasped the decorative silver chain Sandrik wore around his neck.

"Wha.. what are you doing?" Elis demanded to know. Her lips were shaking. She was nearly gone.

"He would want you to have it," Brianna told her, still in that gentle tone. "He would want you to fight on in his memory. You know I am right. He was a good man, and he loved you."

She nodded, very slowly, and allowed Brianna to drop the necklace into her palm. Realizing the girl would need another moment to pull herself together, Brianna moved away.

"We need to get moving." Casavir was still white as a sheet, but he stood tall and picked up his hammer as though it weighed nothing.

"Yeah, yeah." Neeshka was still busy stuffing things into packs and adjusting straps. "Nearly finished! Oh, this'll make for a nice profit once we are back in civilization."

The paladin gave her a thunderous look of disapproval, and she shrank back.

"I'm just saying," she defended herself, but Casavir was not in a mood to argue. Still looking severe, he strode towards the passage Katriona had indicated, and everyone scrambled to follow after him.


	30. Hellfire

**Hellfire**

An eerie sort of silence hung between them as they made their way through the long, narrow passage that led away from the throne room. It was a very long walk. The passage curved and sloped upwards, but not very fast, and as her legs started shaking again, Brianna began to fear that Katriona might have been wrong when she had guessed that this path constituted a second exit.

_What else would it be?_ she asked herself, but even her inner voice lacked conviction.

They did not run into any more orcs in the passage. Brianna was utterly grateful for it, because the walls were narrow enough to severely restrict their ability to fight off anyone coming to kill them. Still, when the passage widened into a room large enough for them all to stand side by side in, she wished it hadn't.

"What _is_ this place?" Qara was the first one to ask. Everyone else was just looking, mutely, at the bodies lined up on the floor of the cave. Shadows flickered and danced on a good dozen empty faces.

Corpses. More death, yet again, after everything.

Brianna felt queasy. She tried to nudge her mind back into emergency mode, the one where she was able to forget everything for the moment and just cope. It stalled. She had used it too many times during the past several hours.

"Maybe we should just… keep going." Neeshka sounded shrill, nervous. "Look, I don't know what this place is, but I think we should just step away and move on."

Brianna might have thought that the tiefling was overreacting, if she had not just at that moment realized what she should have noticed the moment they had entered this space.

The corpses had not just been laid out flat as they might have been if this was a burial chamber. They had been carefully arranged, hands folded just so, heads aligned just so.

It was more than just disconcerting.

"Uh," Qara tried, clearing her throat. "The way these bodies are arranged reminds me of something. Some diagrams."

"Diagrams?" Katriona was the first to ask, because Brianna's voice seemed to have ceased working.

The sorceress nodded, reluctantly. "From Necromancy books."

_Necromancy. _

Brianna shuddered as the memories came flooding into her head. Zombies, walking in the cellar beneath the ruins near Highcliff. A dark priest raising the dead as though they were his personal army. Wyl, his rotten corpse firmly clinging to her and trying to bring her down with him.

Casavir had meanwhile made yet another disconcerting discovery.

"I knew him," the paladin said hoarsely, and knelt by one of the bodies. "Darid. He fell, in battle against the orcs not too long ago, but we never found his body."

"By all the gods, you are right." Katriona hurried to his side. "It is Darid. And…" She spotted another. "Tania, over here. But they have been dead for weeks, how…?"

"The orcs." Brianna's voice was finally cooperating again. "So they have been collecting bodies after their battles. For some purpose we'd probably rather not know about."

"Oh, but it can't have been just the orcs." Qara's voice had taken on a tone Brianna had never, ever hear from the sorceress before. She watched as Qara approached the row of corpses slowly, looking pale, and finally knelt next to a thin young man clad in a tattered blue and yellow robe on the far end. "It couldn't have been."

"What do you mean? Did you know him?" The feeling in Brianna's gut only got worse when she watched Qara, who seemed to be in shock.

"Yes," the sorceress nodded. For once, her voice was lacking its customary edge. "He was a fellow student of mine at the academy. One of the few I actually liked." She stared, looking to the world like a lost little girl for several seconds. Then she reached out and touched the boy's hand with her own, reluctantly. "But it makes no sense that he would be here."

"I really don't like this!"

Neeshka had backed up against the opposite wall, tail twitching wildly. Her eyes were large and nervous, and she was not the only one looking freaked out.

"Don't get me wrong," the tiefling added, "Normally, I'm not above looting a few corpses. But this… this gives me the creeps."

"She's right," Brianna said, addressing everyone and earning an appreciative look from Neeshka. "We need to leave."

"So soon?" a voice asked from the far end of the cave.

They scrambled for their weapons.

Brianna very nearly dropped hers again when she caught sight of the robed man who had approached without any of them even noticing. Her head was spinning.

_But he died. We killed him, Neeshka slit his throat. I watched him bleed. _

She forced her lungs to suck in air and pulled herself back into reality. This man was taller than the dark priest back in the ruins near Highcliff had been, and his voice was deeper. These were the only differences Brianna noticed though, because they wore the same robe, the same bizarre mask. And he was more than likely just as dangerous.

_Not now. Not when we are all so weak, damn it. _

"Who are you? What have you done with these men and women?"

She was glad to hear that Casavir had taken over talking, because she knew she couldn't have managed. Of course, the paladin was out for truth, and for vengeance, even now, standing tall with his hammer raised. His voice echoed through the cave. The shadow priest, however, simply laughed. Deep and dark and ugly.

Then he raised his hands and began to chant.

"Don't let him cast!"

It took Brianna a moment to realize that it was her who had screamed the words. The cold panic overrode even her utter exhaustion and sent a jolt of energy through her body to get her to do whatever she could to end this threat. But even as she strained to raise her sword, she knew it was too late.

The long row of corpses was moving.

She lost track of everything else as she turned to face the undead soldiers the priest had just created for himself. They were moving slowly, as though struggling to shake off the chill of the grave, but Brianna remembered well how strong the reanimated bodies could be, and how ineffective her blade had been against them the last time she had faced them.

Slow, strong attacks would be best. Precision mattered little, it was all about inflicting enough damage to break the husks that were playing hosts to the spell. The corpses didn't care if she sliced the skin off them in strips, but they _would_ be bothered by a suddenly missing limb.

She focused on the first undead's shoulder as the creature shuffled towards her, and tried to collect what was left of her strength.

_One powerful swing, then retreat._

Just as she lifted her sword, there was a warning shout from one of the crowd gathered around the priest, and something soft hit the side of her head. It felt rather like a fluffy raw egg, and it made her skin prickle alarmingly.

_What in the hells just hit me?_

Stumbling backwards to escape the first swing of the oncoming zombie, she pawed at her face with her free hand and felt nothing. Her skin was smooth, unblemished.

She took another step backwards, but the ground had vanished from beneath her feet. The darkness beneath the mountain pulled her in. She fell, and her mind was enveloped by unbearable softness as she felt herself swallowed up by the abyss.

* * *

The only thing she heard was her heartbeat.

Slow and steady, it reverberated through all of her, and her ears were ringing with the sound of her pulse. The tips of her fingers throbbed with the double beats.

When the darkness receded, she realized she was alone. The cave, which seconds ago had been a battlefield, now looked dusty and abandoned. There was not a sign of life. She turned her head slowly and realized that the tunnels leading from the cave had vanished as well. She was trapped.

_It can't be. This has to be a nightmare. Some sort of illusion. _

She clumsily got to her feet and approached one wall. The rock felt solid under her fingers, more so than it would have in any nightmare she had ever had. Dreams were fleeting, fuzzy things, and nothing she felt right now qualified.

She took her time making her way along the wall of the cave. Her fingertips explored every nook, every hidden crevice. She tested the rock for hollow spaces, tried to find air currents that might give away an exit, but there was nothing. Just a wall of solid mountain, surrounding her.

It was a bit difficult to remain calm, given the circumstances. Brianna felt her breathing accelerate and focused on taking deep, even breaths.

_It isn't real. None of this can be real. Don't lose your head. _

She closed her eyes in an attempt to escape the illusion her mind had been imprisoned in.

_Whatever I feel is not real. Whatever I saw is just what my mind told me to see. My body is elsewhere, and I need to return to it. Now._

The walls were still there when she opened her eyes, solid as they had been. Brianna exhaled, frustrated.

"This is going to be tricky," she told herself out loud, in an attempt to break the eerie silence and chase away the shadows that were sneaking up at the edge of her mind.

A sound made her spin around sharply. She could have sworn the room was empty, _knew_ that it had been so, but something had appeared in the middle of the dusty floor. A small, moving bundle.

Heart beating wildly now, she approached it. Even if she was convinced that this was some sort of trick or spell – could not be anything but – that didn't mean she was safe. No telling what might happen if she was hurt or died while she was caught in this strange web.

It appeared to be an infant that had been dropped on the floor. Small limbs struggled with the fabric that covered them, and a mouth made cranky noises, much like small children everywhere made before they could speak.

_Great. Trapped in a dream with a babe for a companion. Someone's got a sick sense of humor._

There was more struggling going on beneath the fabric, more sounds of discontentment, and Brianna pulled a face. Bizarre as the situation was, there was little more annoying than the wailing of an infant.

"Don't even start," she told the bundle.

The struggling became more pronounced, the sounds more urgent, and Brianna sighed. Not certain what else she could do, she reached for the blanket and pulled it away, intending to try and comfort the small thing.

Except that she couldn't touch it, _wouldn't_ touch it, and in fact shrank back from the thing in the bundle that she knew should never have existed.

The babe's skin was charred black, badly burned and cracked, as though the little body had been roasted on a fire. By all rights it should have been dead. Yet the tiny hands kept grasping, and fresh pus and blood oozed continuously from the cracked skin.

Brianna retched. Her legs gave out under her and she went down on all fours, arms shaking, breathing heavily as she tried to calm her revolting stomach.

An arm went around her shoulders, and for a moment she dared hope that she had finally escaped this disturbing scene and woken up.

Then she smelled the foul breath on her face, and screamed.

The babe began to wail powerfully as she struggled. He was still stronger than her, as it had always been, and he threw her to the ground and pinned her hands behind her back easily, and he clamped one hand covered in rotten flesh over her mouth to silence her.

"It's been such a long time, hasn't it, Storm?" Wyl breathed into her ear.

_No! No, no, this is all a dream, some kind of illusion, I just need to disbelieve it and I'll be okay. Please let it be okay._

She tried to twist away from him, but it only served to tighten his grip. He pressed against her, crushing his entire body against hers, like he had so often done in life.

"I don't understand how you could do it," he said, and she could have sworn that there was sadness in his voice. "She was our daughter, Storm, yours and mine. And you burned her alive."

She refused to consider his words. All she could do was not to let him get to her, but it was so difficult when he knew exactly what to say to disconcert her.

"But I took care of her, you know." His breath was tickling her ear, and she felt his tongue licking a slimy trail along her neck. Numbness spread from it to the rest of her body. "She is so much better already. And now that her mother is here to take care of her, I'm sure she will make a full recovery."

"Go to the hells," she hissed at him with the last of her strength. Wyl just laughed.

"But we're already there, Storm. Haven't you figured it out yet?"

Brianna found herself unable to move when he finally lifted his weight off her. She no longer had any feeling in her extremities. Her body felt like it was filled with lead.

His footsteps echoed across the cave. Unable to move even her head, she could not see what he was doing, but it didn't take long until she felt his ice cold hands on her body again.

"Time to be a mother now, Storm," he said, and rolled her onto her back.

In his left hand, he cradled the babe, while his right grasped her shirt and ripped it from the collar down to her navel. As it fell away, he lowered the child to her breast.

Brianna couldn't look away as the small, cracked lips began to suckle. It was a revolting sensation, and once again she attempted to disbelieve her surroundings, to detangle herself from the spell that had been weaved around her. She closed her eyes and wished herself away with all the mental power she could muster.

"You really ought to stop fighting this," Wyl told her. "It won't do any good. You're dead, Storm. You died in that orc cave, and now you're here with me and our little girl, like you should be. We can finally be a family."

_I am not dead._

She clung on to the thought desperately as Wyl laughed.

"So why has your heart stopped?" he asked.

Far too late she realized he was right.

No longer was the steady, comforting beat coursing through her veins. Her body had gone still. Utterly still.

The fear hit her then, like a spike driven into her gut.

It can't be, no, it just isn't possible. I should be facing Kelemvor's judgment, not this. Not this, not with him!

She barely registered the fact that Wyl had bent his head and was now suckling on her other breast like a starved infant. Instead, she closed her eyes and wished, one final time, that this would end.

_Destroy my soul for all I care, just please, not this!_

And black tendrils wrapped themselves around her out of nowhere, pulling her mercifully away from Wyl and towards the unknown.

"No!" Wyl's voice was pure anger. "No, she's supposed to be here! With me!"

She felt him reach for her throat, but he fell short as she dropped into some dark infinity that could not have felt more welcoming.

* * *

When Brianna awoke, the chill of the mountain wind was numbing her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Her head felt like she had received at least one good whack from a certain paladin's hammer. A tiny child's cries rang in her ear.

She hesitated for a moment, not sure where she was, what had happened. Then the memories came flooding to the forefront of her mind all at once, the dark cave, the child, the orcs, Wyl, and blood, so much blood…

Brianna could not stop herself from shuddering. She tried to fight her body's reflexes, tried to banish the impressions inside her head, but to no avail. Her skin felt sticky with blood, and she could taste it on her tongue and feel it running down the back of her throat. She tried to breathe, but could not suck in any air and gagged instead.

A hand touched her shoulder, very gently, and Brianna felt herself surrounded by a familiar scent of smoldering ashes. The hallucination and the panic trickled away.

Safe. She was safe.

"Hey Neesh," she croaked, blinking her eyes open. A smiling tiefling face promptly popped into her field of vision.

"You're awake!" Neeshka rather excitedly stated the obvious.

"Mhm." Brianna raised a hand to wipe the sweat from her face and studied the near-dark sky, trying to order her flailing thoughts. "How long was I out? Is it morning or evening?"

"Evening," Neeshka replied. "You've been asleep for a night and a day."

It had felt longer, but at the same time, not that long. Part of her wanted to concentrate on the hours gone by, to try and discern whether she could remember anything. Another, much larger part wanted to slam the door to those particular memories of the past two days, and preferably collapse the entire mental passage to them with blastglobes.

Neeshka kept on chatting. "We set up camp as soon as we found a spot after getting out of that cave. Everyone's been resting ever since."

Brianna contemplated this for a while. There were a lot of questions swirling around in her head, and she tried to order them by importance, but gave up halfway through. Her thought processes weren't quite up to speed just yet.

"What happened?" she asked finally, steeling herself.

"You don't remember?" Neeshka tilted her head, looking moderately concerned.

"I remember being hit by some spell, but that's about it."

_And I remember being trapped in a nightmare afterwards, but I'm not going to cry about it like a little girl. _

The tiefling nodded. "You collapsed right in front of a row of the walking dead out to smash you to bits, too."

"And why in the hells didn't they?"

"Casavir," Neeshka told her, rolling her eyes at the sky. "Unleashed all of his holy powers, or something paladin-y like that. Made me itch so bad I nearly dropped my dagger, but it sure scared the zombies something fierce. We spent quite some time going after the lot of them after Khelgar and Katriona killed that priest."

Great. So she owed the paladin _again_. The realization that the paladin likely would never collect on that debt didn't do much to cheer her up. It was the rpinciple of the thing, the fact that she had once again been the weak one, helpless and relying on someone else.

She tried to sit up, but failed miserably. Her muscles staged a painful protest, which caused her to bite her lip so she wouldn't moan in pain. Neeshka silently reached out for her and helped to pull her into a sitting position.

"Thanks," Brianna sighed. "Oh, by the hells, it's going to take days until I stop hurting."

"You aren't the only one, either. Casavir is still sleeping, has been ever since we made camp. He carried you down the mountain, you know."

Brianna made a face.

_Fucking paladins and their fucking heroics. _

"Cast a sleep spell on you first, because you were having some kind of a seizure or something, and then just put you on his shoulder and marched off. But enough of that." Neeshka crossed her arms before her chest, her voice turning more serious. "I have to say, that was one of the more suicidal affairs I've had the misfortune of being a part of. Let's not do that again, alright?"

"Yes, let's not," Brianna agreed and collapsed back onto her bedroll.

* * *

Recovery was slow for all of them.

It wasn't until the next morning that Brianna felt able to do her share of camp-related duties. She collected tinder for the fire and stood watch for an hour, at which point her knees threatened to buckle and Qara took over for her. Throughout the day, she still sometimes thought she heard a wailing infant not too far from camp, and on occasion, she would swallow a sip of water and taste blood.

She was not worst off by any stretch of the imagination. There was Elis, who had been spending most of her time huddled against a rock, staring into space and clutching Sandrik's necklace. There was Casavir, who did not wake until the sun was high in the sky, and then the Paladin went to pray and promptly exhausted himself again by creating water for them all to drink and healing various injuries that had thus far gone untreated.

And there was the frail-looking man, huddled in a blanket by the fire, whom Katriona had found strapped to a torture rack just after they had defeated the priest.

Emissary Issani might once have been rather handsome. The weeks of torture had taken their toll on his body, however, and left him malnourished and scarred. But he was alive, which was more than Brianna had dared to hope for when she had first set out into the mountains. It was probably more than Brelaina had expected, too, which meant that the captain had better be impressed when Brianna returned to Neverwinter with the emissary. As of right now, however, she hadn't got a clue when that might be. Their situation at the moment didn't look all that rosy.

At dusk, Brianna approached Katriona. The other woman had kept herself busy for most of the day, helping out with anything that was needed, and cleaning weapons and armor of orc blood. Brianna barely kept herself from making a face yet again when she remembered that her own armor desperately needed cleaning as well, soaked with blood as it was. She'd probably never get the smell out of the leather.

"What do you need?" Katriona asked without looking up from her cleaning work, which already didn't sit well with Brianna. The bit of authority she had fought to keep had apparently gone straight down the drain when she had passed out in the middle of a fight and been carried around like a sack of potatoes.

"Who says I need anything from you?" she asked, irritated.

It did the trick in getting Katriona to look up after all. The woman's face was smudged with dirt, and her blond hair looked everything but blond, caked with dust and blood as it was.

"Look, I haven't got the patience for games. Tell me what you came here to say, or leave me. There's plenty of work to be done."

The barb was not lost on Brianna, and she glared, but bit back a rude answer in favor of getting her actual point across.

"We need to move camp tomorrow morning."

"That would be insane," Katriona replied curtly.

"I wasn't _asking_."

Katriona froze. Brianna watched as the other woman dropped her cleaning cloth and stood, in a pathetically obvious attempt to intimidate Brianna through her superior height. She refused to step back and returned the glare she was getting.

"Casavir has _not_ got the strength for it," Katriona said icily. "And neither do most of the others. I'm certainly glad you appear to be feeling better, but I'm not about to risk the health of my men any further."

"Oh, for crying out loud, I'm not talking about a forced march!" Brianna blatantly rolled her eyes at the woman. "Use your head for just one moment, will you? We've been here for two days. You know as well as I do that we didn't kill every last orc in that cave, and the longer we wait, the more likely it is that they'll round up the survivors and come after us looking for revenge."

"That's just speculation," was Katriona's angry reply.

"That doesn't mean it's false. We need to make it to Old Owl Well and get proper rest at the encampment."

"Old Owl Well? We spent months avoiding the greycloak forces, what makes you think we want to be walking right into their midst now?"

"Because it would be idiotic not to. We have barely got any rations left. Whatever Casavir's reasons for avoiding the Neverwinter troops, our need for a secure shelter trumps those reasons."

"As I said, Casavir isn't strong enough yet for…"

"Why," Brianna interrupted, "do you insist on speaking for him? Are you so afraid he'll agree with me if we go and ask him?"

"That's got nothing to do…" Katriona broke off, looking as angry with herself as she likely was with Brianna. "Don't you dare wake him just to ask his opinion! He needs rest."

"Then don't make me," Brianna snapped, and turned away before Katriona could find a fitting reply.

It might have been a smarter plan to ensure that Casavir's second in command stayed on her side, but Brianna did not have the patience nor the strength for diplomacy and tiptoeing. Besides, she would soon be back on her way to Neverwinter, leaving all this drama behind her.

She busied herself with cleaning and sorting through her gear until dinner time. Willem, who had left the Eyegouger lair in relatively good condition, had gone out and shot them yet another mountain goat. By itself, it was not nearly enough meat to fill the bellies of thirteen people, but Neeshka scoured the mountain slopes for edible greens, and Qara used the available ingredients to make a stew that actually wasn't terrible.

Brianna waited until everyone had eaten their fill, figuring they would be feeling better and more receptive to her proposal at this point. She ignored Katriona's narrowed eyes as she climbed to her feet and and raised her hand for silence.

"We need to break camp tomorrow morning," she announced.

Her words were met by silence. Khelgar raised his eyebrows skeptically, but did not object, and most everyone else's heads had turned towards Casavir.

The paladin, freshly awake and still far too pale in the face, appeared to consider for some time before he gave a single nod.

"Very well," was all he said, and with that, the decision was final.


	31. Duplicity

**Duplicity**

_She was swollen with child, much larger than she could remember being. Lying in her own bed, back at home at Daeghun's house in West Harbor, should have given her comfort. But the walls were made out of rock, and the ceiling was that of a cave. There was no exit. _

"_Eight months along now," Wyl told her. "She can finally finish growing. Our little girl will be happy and healthy soon."_

_She placed her hands upon her belly and felt the heat from within. The babe was burning, inside her. Always burning. _

_Bishop was leaning against her dresser, holding a mug of ale, chuckling as he watched her. _

"_Didn't I tell you it would happen again?" he asked._

"_Get it out," she pleaded with him. "Get it out of me. You said you'd help!"_

"_For a price," he agreed._

"_I'll pay." She was too desperate. "Whatever it is, I'll pay it."_

"_So eager to doom yourself, are you?" _

_He smirked as he strolled over to the bed. _

"_I won't let you do that!" Wyl shouted. "Child killers!"_

_He stormed over and lashed out at both of them, his body as strong as those of the reanimated corpses she had fought before. Brianna felt the punches raining down at her, bruising her ribs and her shoulder, but it was too late. Like he had done before, Bishop clamped one hand over her mouth, but his other sank through her skin, into her belly. He broke the babe's neck easily. _

_As Wyl screamed, the smell of blood filled the room, so intensely that she thought she would drown in it. _

* * *

She fought to wake. The dream tugged at her, unwilling to let her go, but eventually she made her way through the swirling darkness towards reality. And towards a very persistent elbow hitting her ribs.

"Stop it," she groaned, and threw an elbow of her own, which elicited a huffy sound.

"Stop thrashing around, then," Neeshka mumbled. "'s too early."

The blanket pulled taut as the tiefling rolled over. Brianna released it and let Neeshka have all the warmth. She had no desire to go back to sleep and risk another nightmare.

The smell of blood seemed to have followed her out of the dream and was now wafting around the tent. Not until she opened her eyes and sat up did she realize the reason for it, and she sighed in resignation. She hadn't had a monthly bleeding until before leaving West Harbor. Part of her had hoped that it would stay that way for a while longer. Hells, she wouldn't have minded if the bleeding could have vanished altogether, along with any chance of her ever getting with child again.

She gave herself a provisional cleaning and used a linen bandage to stop the flow of blood. Then she left the tent and stepped into the cold drizzle outside.

The rain had started the previous evening, and though it had lessened throughout the night, it showed no sign of stopping. Callum had not been happy about finally conceding the drinking water advantage, but Brianna didn't think that the commander had any room left to complain. Logram Eyegouger had been slain, the orc tribes were fighting among each other for the right to name a successor, and as a result the Old Owl Well camp had not seen a single orc attack in days.

And yet, Brianna had received nothing but a grumbled word of thanks, and the generous concession of actually being allowed to rest and recover her strength before being put back on a work shift.

The camp had gone through a lot of subtle changes. Lacking the constant interruption and destruction by the orcs, the greycloaks had actually managed to finish and reinforce the walls surrounding the encampment. Construction had begun on yet another guard tower, and the winch they used to get water from the well had been replaced by a new, sturdier one.

The eighth bell had not yet rung, so the only people moving about were the night shift guards. The watch schedule was another thing Callum had relaxed marginally with the orc threat no longer looming over them, leading to a bit more free time for everyone. Everyone else was bound to still be snoring in their tents, but Brianna moved through the near darkness looking for the one person bound to be awake at this hour despite not having guard duty.

She found Casavir in a remote corner of the camp. The paladin had obviously already prayed to Tyr, but he was still kneeling on the muddy ground and staring up into the cloudy sky. She wondered what he was contemplating.

"Good morning," she said carefully. He jumped in surprise and got to his feet before even recognizing her, which caused Brianna to have to suppress a smirk. The man was certainly skilled and good in a fight, but his sense of hearing was rubbish.

"Forgive me, I did not realize you had approached," Casavir said unnecessarily. "A good morning to you as well."

"A bit early to pray, isn't it?" She pointed up at the gloomy sky. "And dark."

"I woke, and found myself unable to return to sleep," he replied.

"Yeah." She buried her clammy hands in the folds of her tunic. "Same here."

He peered down at her, frowning, and as usual she felt herself being scrutinized under the gaze of his steely blue eyes.

"Will you share with me what is bothering you?" he asked.

The _no_ was on the tip of her tongue, a reflex to counter his intrusion. But her nightmares were the reason she had sought him out in the first place, and she desperately needed to put a stop to them. Sleep no longer refreshed her as it should have, and her waking hours were haunted by the echoes of her dreams.

"In the cave," she said abruptly, forcing it out before she could change her mind. "When the priest cast that spell on me. What happened?"

Casavir studied the ground at his feet for several long moments.

"I know you were preoccupied with everything that went on in there," she assured him. "But Neeshka said you put me to sleep somehow, and before that…"

"You were laying on the ground, with your eyes wide open," he said, rather abruptly, causing her to trail off. "And you were crying, pleading with someone only you could see. You would not hear any of us, and when we attempted to restrain you, you grew more frantic, and you fought. I believed you might be trapped in some kind of waking nightmare, so I spelled you to sleep to try and counter the curse."

"It worked," she admitted.

"Yet something seems to bother you still." It was a question masquerading as a simple statement. She hesitated to answer it, although common sense told her that the paladin was the one person in the camp least likely to mock her or disregard whatever she told him.

"Every night," she forced out the first words, but the rest followed like a waterfall. "Every night that nightmare comes back in some form, and I am trapped there again and I think it all might be true, and when I wake I can still smell the blood, and I can still hear…"

She choked back the final words, feeling as filthy as the muck she was standing in. Casavir sought her eyes, but she avoided him almost desperately. Instead, she wrapped her arms about herself protectively. If he touched her now, she thought she would likely lash out at him, but the paladin seemed to sense it and kept his distance.

"Please, walk with me," he asked instead.

She followed him out of the camp and through the pass. Thankfully, he remained silent while they walked. Her steady stride helped to calm the ill feeling that talking about her dreams had brought up, but she was still uneasy when Casavir led her up onto a ledge overlooking the encampment. During the day, there were archers stationed here, but at the moment the ledge was abandoned.

"Could you cast the spell on me again this evening?" she asked eventually. "So I can get some sleep without dreaming?"

He shook his head, and her heart sank.

"Magically induced sleep is not as restful as the natural sort, I am afraid. But if you would feel comfortable sharing details of the dreams you have, I might be able to help you work through them."

"I don't need you to analyze me." She knew she sounded abrasive, but she did not care. "I'm just sick of being tired all the damn time."

The look with which the paladin regarded her made her feel like a petulant child.

"But you did come to me for help, did you not?"

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Brianna did not even know where to start.

"I don't need your gods damned help," she hissed, taking perverse pleasure in watching him flinch. "Why is it you keep assuming that everyone is in need of your protection all the damn time? Do I look that weak to you? It is shocking for you to hear that I was doing perfectly fine before you ever showed up?"

He opened his mouth for a reply, but she would not let him get it out.

"And you are such a hypocrite, standing here demanding that I tell you all sort of personal things! You still have not told me why you spent months playing hide and seek with the greycloaks, and what in the hells your history is with Callum anyway. I saw the way you two looked at each other when we first arrived back here. I even vouched for your presence, Casavir, and I don't even know if I should have!"

He had turned away from her halfway through her tirade, which made her wonder how much of an impact her words were having. She knew what she had said was harsh. She also knew that it likely would have been a good idea to apologize on the spot, but she was too upset to care.

She waited with her arms crossed before her chest until he turned back to her. When he spoke, she did not expect anything near what she was actually hearing.

"You are in a lot of pain," Casavir said simply.

She _had_ affected him, she could see how pale he was, how disconcerted he still looked, but he was not allowing himself to act on these emotions.

"Gods, do you ever get angry?" Her voice still carried more than a hint of bitterness. "Or is that part of being a paladin? You just let it all eat away at you quietly."

"It is not my pain that matters right now," he replied.

"Why, because you say so?"

"Because I have been trained and prepared to carry its burden."

She wondered whether he could have answered with any less sincerity. The argument was tiring, and it was not going in any sort of productive direction.

"You know, forget I ever asked you for anything," she told him, and decisively turned her back on him. "Go choke on your holy symbol."

* * *

"So, Callum said…" Neeshka started, and Brianna coughed over the spoonful of soup she had just led to her mouth.

"_You_ talked to Callum?"

"Well, no, not exactly." The tiefling gestured with her own spoon. "He told one of his sergeants and I happened to be nearby, and since they didn't exactly keep their voices down I couldn't help but overhear…"

"I'm not the paladin, you know," Brianna pointed out. "He might object to you listening in on conversations, but I don't. Anyway, you were saying?"

"He said something to the effect of sending a large group of the greycloaks back to Neverwinter for reassignment soon, since he won't need so many here with the well secured. He also might have mentioned a word or two about sending the emissary along with them, now that he's recovered enough to travel."

"If the emissary's going, we're going," Brianna said flatly. "It's about damn time too."

Neeshka nodded, lifted her bowl and tipped the remaining contents into her mouth. Then the tiefling put down her dish and looked at Brianna expectantly across the table.

"And remember, no orc killing expeditions ever again. You promised."

Brianna rather thought she had agreed, not promised, but it wasn't anything worth arguing about. Besides, she couldn't have agreed more with the statement itself.

"No more orc killing expeditions," she nodded solemnly. "Frankly, I'm done with putting my life on the line for Neverwinter. Once we get back I'm planning to give Cormick the guilt trip of his life."

"And then Blacklake, hm?" Neeshka raised her arm and waved it wildly, signaling Qara for a refill. The sorceress pointedly ignored her, however.

"Blacklake." Brianna agreed. "And that sage better be able to tell me what I need to know."

"And then?"

"Well, you know. Then I do whatever I have to do to sever the connection between me and you-know-what."

She had kept the shards secret for a reason. No need to start mentioning them by name now. The shards were what had forced her to Neverwinter, and they were also the key to her eventual freedom.

"And then?" Neeshka asked again.

Brianna pulled her shoulders into a shrug. "I hadn't really thought about it," she confessed. "Dreaming about the future never leads to anything but disappointment, so I don't even bother. If I see an opportunity I like, I'll know it."

"We could always keep Leldon on his toes in the thieving department," Neeshka suggested with a grin. "Neverwinter has got plenty of slightly shady business opportunities, if you know where to look for them. You're pretty good with locks already. I teach you a bit more about traps, and we'd be brilliant together!"

"Maybe." Brianna resisted the temptation of dreaming along. "As I said, no use thinking about it until I'm away from all of this."

"Until we are, you mean," Neeshka corrected her.

"Yeah." Brianna pushed her empty bowl away and climbed off the bench. "Hurry up. Simmy will probably wonder where we are."

"She'll be busy with her admirer, most likely," Neeshka grinned, but got up as well. "You sure you want to interrupt the love birds?"

One leisurely walk through the camp later, Brianna found out that Neeshka had indeed been correct in her prediction. Simmy was pounding herbs with such ferocity that Brianna half-expected the mortar to shatter under each impact. Next to her, the gnome with the frizzy hair was chatting away, apparently unaware of the halfling quartermaster's dangerous mood.

"…and so from that point on, she was able to use the stove not only to make food, but also to summon the various fey in the forest in case she wanted to have a chat with one or give them some leftover slices of her delightful strawberry pie! Well anyway, the point is that if you are going to use a winch to get water each morning, why would you not want to combine the task with another that takes the same amount of effort? For instance, I could try to…"

"Hello there!" Brianna announced herself rather more loudly than she would have ordinarily done. She had learned quickly that it took more than a mumbled greeting to derail the gnome in the middle of one of his stories. "Sorry we're late, Simmy. Excuse me, Grobnar." She reached around the gnome in order to collect her equipment.

"Not a problem at all." Grobnar seemed positively thrilled about the interruption. "I was just offering Simmy here to look into automating some of the tasks she has her hands full with, but now that you are here, maybe I could ask you a few more questions about the Bonegnasher clan, and…"

"Sorry, not just now. I'll have to concentrate or else I'm going to mess this up," Brianna lied easily as she uncorked a bottle. "Simmy would be really upset." This was not the first time the gnome had tried to corner her in order to ask her about her orc-hunting experiences. She had no desire to talk about what had happened in the mountains, however. Luckily, distracting Grobnar was not all that difficult.

"I think one of the rangers was asking for you," Neeshka announced in the gnome's direction. "Was looking for information on orcs, or maybe he wanted to give you some? I forget what his name was, started with a G, I think, but it might have been a C or a T, if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, he said it was urgent, so you should go find him straight away."

With an exclamation of thanks and reassurances that he would soon return, the gnome bounced away. Simmy promptly tilted forward and buried her face in her hands.

"Kill me," she asked gravely. Neeshka dissolved into giggles.

"He'll be busy for a while."

"Yes, but he will be back. He always comes back and tells me more stories that have no ending and no point and all I remember about the last one was him attaching a spring-mounted shield to his codpiece, and I still don't know why, not that I want to. I'd sent him away myself except… well, it would feel like kicking a very yippy puppy."

"Well, I suppose it's what we are here for," Brianna shrugged.

"What, kicking puppies?"

"Helping you in any way we can. Are you still full up on acid?"

"One of the patrols took a few bottles with them this morning. If you could prepare about five more, that would be great." Simmy let out a deep sigh as she scraped out her mortar.

Brianna peered critically at the slender halfling woman. She was not entirely sure how long Grobnar had been at the camp, or why Simmy put up with the gnome's annoying chatter in the first place. When they had returned with the emissary, he had been here, wandering around as though he had always belonged amidst the much taller greycloaks and telling everyone who would listen about the ballad he was writing.

"Why is he here anyway?" she wondered out loud. "And why does Callum tolerate him?"

"Came wandering in just a day after you lot left for the Bonegnasher clan," Simmy replied and gestured towards a bulbous flask. "Care to hand me that? He said he wanted to help, told us he could fix things, and Callum didn't really have a good reason not to allow him here. So he stayed."

Brianna reached for the flask and slid it over to Simmy. "And the commander was not even suspicious? It's a bit random, isn't it?"

"Well, the orcs aren't likely to use a gnome spy," Simmy shrugged, her hands busy mixing the herb paste with whatever foul-smelling liquid the flask contained. "And you've been around Grobnar enough by now, you know he is harmless. Just wanted a taste of adventure, I suspect, and I can even sympathize with that. Why do you think I'm here?"

Neeshka plunked two armfuls of bottles onto the table and went to work on making the thickening solution for the acid. Brianna moved to follow suit, but she halted her hand in mid-air when she caught sight of Willem, who was approaching them purposefully. The young scout had been quite bothered by everything they had gone through on their mission, but he looked as though he was starting to recover.

"Let me guess." She tilted her head at him. "The commander wants to see me?"

"Straight away," Willem nodded. "He is expecting your report as well."

"I figured," she nodded, patted her pocket, and then gave Neeshka and Simmy a nod as well. "I'll be back in a bit."

* * *

After what Neeshka had overheard, it was not truly a surprise for Brianna to hear that she would be returning to Neverwinter, but she faked it anyway. What did surprise her was the urgency of it.

"Tomorrow?" she repeated, eyebrows raised. "Not that I have much to pack, but that's quite sudden."

"As it should be." Callum pushed aside the ledger in which he apparently kept his paperwork, and into which he had just inserted Brianna's report from her activities in the mountains. Since she had taken greycloaks with her, and especially since one of them had died during the mission, she had owed Callum several pages worth of explanation. She knew that in light of what she had accomplished, Sandrik's death would not get her in trouble, but still, she had chosen the words she had put on the report very carefully.

"Had news from the city recently," the commander elaborated, and Brianna tore her eyes from the ledger and focused on Callum's face. The dwarf looked just as strained and stressed as ever.

"What sorts of news?" she asked, and he frowned.

"They've been having trouble with the Luskans again. Said they could use some greycloak support, and they'll be wanting their lieutenant back as well, I'm certain." He gave her a gruff nod. "You did good work here. I wrote as much in my report for Captain Brelaina, you can deliver it along with the emissary." He slid a sealed note across the table her way. She took it and tucked it into her pocket, where her own report had previously been.

"Anything else, Commander?"

Callum shook his head and climbed off his chair. "That's all I have, and I need to be getting back to work. I wish you a pleasant trip back to Neverwinter, Lieutenant Storm. And thank you for all you did."

She left, intending to return to Simmy and Neeshka. However, before she had taken twenty steps, she ran straight and very literally into Casavir.

He stepped out from behind a tent just as she turned the corner, and her breath left her in a gasp as she collided with the paladin's chest. His arms shot forward and he caught her, looking down at her, startled. It occurred to her to be extremely glad he was not wearing armor at the moment.

"Where did you come from?" she asked, blinking up at him.

"I was looking for you," he confessed. "My apologies. I hoped to be able to talk with you."

"Oh," she said. He was holding her so close that his holy aura had fully enveloped her, making her feel safe and calm. She stepped back reluctantly.

"I wanted to apologize for my part in our exchange this morning." His eyes were earnest under furrowed brown. "I should not have pressured you as I did, and I only realized much later that you were right. I should never have asked you to trust me without being deserving of your trust in the first place."

Brianna stepped back a bit further, leaving his aura completely. It helped to clear her head but made her feel colder at the same time. Leaning against the newly-built wall, she regarded him and considered his words.

She had never met anyone who conceded so much on principle. As she had once before admitted to herself, it made Casavir difficult for her to figure out. The days they had spent traveling the mountains together had only shed partial light on the paladin.

"Alright," she said finally, carefully. "I accept your apology."

He was visibly relieved, making Brianna wonder once more.

_Why does it matter so much what I think of him? Has to be a paladin thing, truly. _

"If you wish, I could try to spell you asleep tonight," he offered then.

"I thought you said it would not work."

"Not as well as natural rest would, indeed, but it may be preferable to nightmares, or not sleeping at all."

"So why were you categorically refusing it earlier?"

He looked straight at her then, his eyes demanding to be met.

"Experience has shown me that often, what we try to heal is merely an effect, and we should be looking at the cause instead. You gave me the impression that your inability to sleep restfully has a cause far removed from anything I could help by casting a simple spell."

She leaned her hear back against the wall, breaking their eye contact in the process.

"That's very kind of you," she told him, not really meaning it.

"But you still do not wish to try?"

Brianna sighed and contemplated actually giving him an honest answer. Lies generally left her tongue easily, but always having to watch and twist her words so exactly when it came to the paladin gave her a headache.

"I don't believe in tearing open old scars to try and make them heal properly," she finally replied. "They're as healed as they are going to get."

"But the scars do still cause you pain," he inferred, his tone gentle.

"Yes."

_Hells, when did I decide to pour my heart out to him?_

She turned her face away, not entirely sure what sort of impression she was giving him at this very moment, and not wanting to make it too easy for him to read her. Casavir had assumed the best about her before. She was certain he would again unless she gave him cause not to.

"I know you are a good person, I have seen it." Casavir's voice was low, and very quiet.

_Should have made a bet with myself_, she thought, half-amused.

"You have a desire to help others and to fight for a good cause, and you do it your own way. But it seems like you are surrounded by a wall of thorns," he continued.

She opened her eyes wide and gave him her best startled look.

"I do not mean to pry," he assured her. "But I do find myself intrigued." He looked away from her pointedly as he said that. "And I find myself wondering what it is that affects you so, and whether I can be of help at all in shouldering that burden."

_Talking about burdens, again. If he is allowed to be this dramatic, then I am, too. _

"Shouldering my burden?" She gave him a wry smile. "Not unless you are willing to accompany me back to Neverwinter and fight through hordes of githyanki and bladelings. But thanks for offering."

"Githyanki?" This, apparently, warranted a shocked exclamation. "The extraplanar creatures?"

"Yes. And they are hunting me, along with their pet bladelings." Brianna watched through half-closed eyes as his expression change from shock to admiration to confusion.

"But… why?"

"Because my foster father set them on my trail in order to save my home village."

There it was, one of her shouldered burdens in a nutshell. Not the one Casavir had originally wanted to know about, of course, but she was not about to point that out to him.

"And so you volunteered to save those you love."

Brianna could not help but laugh at him. She tried to bit it back, but the notion was so naïve, so ridiculously far from the truth that she could not quell the sound in her throat.

"Gods, Casavir," she said when the paladin stared, taken aback. "He made me do it. He never gave me a choice."

She was starting to regret sharing this with him. He did not see the world as she did, and she did not want to hear him telling her that she should feel honored to be able to save every worthless West Harbor villager, or some such thing.

"So as I said." She pushed herself off the wall and turned away from him. "Unless you'd like to help me fight the horde, I'm afraid there is not a whole lot you can do."

"Then let me come with you."

She froze, then spun around. "What, back to Neverwinter? I thought you left for good reason."

"And it is for good reason I shall return," he answered evenly. "If you need help, let me give it."

"You're actually serious." She shouldn't have doubted it – he was a paladin, after all – but his decision was sudden enough to throw her off. "What about Katriona? And the others following you?"

"I will talk to Katriona immediately. I believe she will want to stay, working with Commander Callum to ensure all of the farms around the well remain safe. She will do well on her own."

Brianna doubted the woman would be thrilled to be left behind, but that was between the two of them, not her. And despite the fact that being around Casavir permanently was sure to cause her a headache, she was not about to turn down a man willing to put his life on the line for her.

"Alright then," she nodded. "Be ready to leave tomorrow morning."

As she turned to leave, she could not help but wonder what in the hells had to be going through his head.

* * *

"We will be leaving tomorrow," she reported to Neeshka a while later, after she had found the tiefling trying to entice a group of greycloaks to play cards with her. "Casavir will be coming with. Whatever happened to making potions with Simmy, did Grobnar get in the way of it?"

"No, Grobnar is…" Neeshka spun around so fast her short hair flew. "Did you just say the paladin is coming back to Neverwinter with us?"

"Yes, he is." Brianna had figured Neeshka would not be happy to hear this bit of news, but she hoped the other girl would not insist on arguing the matter. "What about Grobnar?"

"Oh, Grobnar's gone." Neeshka grinned for a moment, but then her face fell serious again. "Please tell me you are joking. Why I the hells would you invite him along?"

"What do you mean, gone? Gone where? And why's that funny?"

Neeshka glared. "Why do I have to spend more time with him? I'll be up all night scratching my skin bloody because of his stupid holy aura every time we make camp."

"Because he offered to fight githyanki," Brianna told her. "Basically swore me eternal loyalty, you know how he gets. But look at it this way, anyone willing to put himself between you and someone else's weapon is worth keeping around, no?"

"I suppose." Neeshka threw up her hands, then closed both of them around her horns much in the same way that some people grasped fistfuls of their hair when they were exasperated. "And he's off delivering a letter."

"Delivering a letter?" Brianna stared, confused. "But I just talked to him."

"No, I mean Grobnar." Neeshka snorted with mirth. "Simmy offered me five silver to rid her of the little pest for good, so I sent him off with an extremely official and important message. Might even have mentioned something about Simmy's sister's life depending on it. I figure it'll keep him busy for, oh, two or three weeks."

"Oh, that's _mean_," Brianna acknowledged, impressed.

Neeshka shrugged as she turned away, towards their shared tent.

"Hey, I was being nice. I could have sent him off to Thay or something."

'You could have," Brianna acknowledged, calling after the tiefling. "He probably would have done it, too!"


	32. Backlash

**Backlash**

Not much had changed in the docks district in the weeks Brianna had been gone. The smell was certainly still the very same, and she was surprised to realize that she found the stink of spoiled fish and unwashed dock workers much less offensive than she had before. Maybe this was because of the close association it now had with the Sunken Flagon in her own mind, which already felt like home more than Daeghun's house in West Harbor ever had.

"Oh, it's so good to be back." Neeshka lifted her nose to the wind. "If I never see the mountains again it'll be too soon."

"Well I haven't missed this stupid tavern, but I cannot wait to sleep in a decent bed again." Qara squirmed under her pack. "Now can we get a move on so I can drop off all this crap before my back gives out?"

"Yes, let's," Brianna nodded. "But stop your whining, Casavir is already carrying half of your things."

"Well, he also has no trouble wearing fifty pounds of armor, so I _think_ he and I might have a bit of a strength difference," Qara replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Brianna did not honor that reply with anything more than a roll of her eyes, and quickened her steps to overtake Khelgar.

The journey back from the Sword Mountains had been, for the most part, eventless. Not that Brianna had expected anything else, considering that there had been more greycloaks traveling with them than could have fit in Duncan's taproom. Emissary Issani had been particularly happy with the huge escort. They had first made a stop at the City Watch headquarters, to release the emissary into the protection of the sergeant on duty there, and to leave Callum's report for Captain Brelaina.

And now, home. She was so sore and tense she thought she would have to soak in a hot bath for three days straight before her muscles would finally relax.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the permanent half-darkness of the taproom. It was filled with a decent amount of patrons, and Duncan was scrambling to clear tables with Sal filling mugs at the bar.

"Duncan!" the bald bartender called to his employer upon spotting Brianna, who stood and waited. When her uncle finally spotted her, she gave him a tired smile.

"You're back! Finally!" Duncan carelessly set down his tray on one of the tables and hurried towards her. "And still in one piece!"

With that, he put both of his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, pack and all. Brianna, who had not expected this, gave an undignified squeak.

"And a new face, too?" Duncan, after setting her down again, had turned towards Casavir. "Well met."

While the two men eyed each other, Brianna set down her pack and tried to loosen her aching shoulders.

"You'll want a bath, lass?" Duncan asked finally. "I'll ready a room for your new friend and then I can heat up the water for you."

"That would be wonderful." She dropped onto the nearest chair and ran her hands through the filthy mess that was her hair. Her last bathing opportunity had been back at Old Owl Well, sharing the same luke-warm water with every other woman in the encampment. They had set up camp by a river on their way back, but the water had been frigid, so Brianna had only washed the dust off her face and arms that night. She probably didn't exactly smell like a field of flowers.

As though she had issued an invitation, most of the rest of the group began to pull up chairs as well. Qara was the only one who, after simply dropping her pack in the middle of the taproom, vanished without a word.

"So how did things go?" Duncan made hand gestures in Sal's direction, and the bartender began to fill mugs once more. "Were you successful? When do you get back to work around here?"

"It went well, yes." Brianna forcefully nudged her mind away from the less pleasant aspects that her assignment had brought with it. "Everything went well. I get to rest until this time tomorrow. They've scheduled some operation in the docks the sergeant said they wanted me to help out with."

"Luskans, or githyanki, most likely." Duncan gave her a look. "Both of these have made some appearances around here throughout the past few weeks, did you know that?"

"Luskans, yes, I heard that." She accepted the mug Sal handed to her with a nod of thanks. "Githyanki, no. But I suppose it was to be expected that they would keep looking for me here."

"Might have just been biding their time until we got back," Neeshka suggested. "That's what I'd do."

"Yeah." Brianna preferred not to think of it. "So how have things been around here? Looks busy enough."

"Well, yes." Duncan gave her a rather strange look. "You sent me a bard."

"Huh?"

"You sent me a bard. I thought you were joking when you first told me I should have one here. But he was pretty popular with the customers last night."

Brianna stared.

"I didn't send you a bard," she said slowly. Next to her, Neeshka fidgeted.

"No? What's this all about, then?" Duncan fished a piece of parchment out of the pocket of his apron and tossed it to her."

_The Sunken Flagon, One Duncan, Proprietor, Neverwinter_, the paper was addressed on the outside, in a scribbled and loopy script that was not her own. She unfolded it, confused.

_Duncan_, it read.

_Change your socks._

_Greetings from Old Owl Well._

When it finally clicked, Brianna turned towards Neeshka, unbelieving.

"You sent _Grobnar_ here?"

Neeshka was unsuccessfully trying to drown her laughter in her tankard.

"Well," she said after taking a breath. "I didn't think he'd _stay_. And to be fair, if I'd addressed this to anyone else I know around here, the gnome probably would have gotten himself killed while delivering it."

"Oh, Duncan." Brianna took a deep gulp of her ale. "I am so, so sorry. And I'm blaming Neeshka entirely for this one."

Duncan shrugged. "Well, no worries. He's not bad, after all."

"He's not?" She had never actually heard the gnome sing before.

"He kept the patrons properly entertained. Once he stopped talking, anyway, and that took a while. But after Bishop lost his patience and threw a mug, he started on a tune, and sang and played quite beautifully for the rest of the evening."

"Hm." Brianna yawned and considered this new development. If Grobnar was actually being useful, and if she could somehow ensure that he would not rob her of her last nerve, she might be able to tolerate him being around the Flagon. "Did you make him pay for the mug?"

"The gnome, no. Bishop, yes, I did. Now, lass, let me get that bath ready for you, you're falling asleep just sitting there."

"Yeah." She forced herself to stand up once more and bent to grab her pack to carry to her room. "Oh, it's so good to be back in civilization."

* * *

Much later, Brianna, now feeling relaxed and tired and blessedly clean for the first time in many weeks, finally got around to unpacking.

She had sold many of the trinkets she had collected throughout the journey to Simmy. Especially the crudely-made orcish jewelry had fetched a nice bit of coin, which she sorely needed. Still, her pack was quite a bit heavier now than it had been when she had departed the Flagon.

She went to work. Clothes, in a pile to be washed. Weapons, in need of a more thorough cleaning than she could accomplish with her length of cloth. Armor, which had certainly seen better days and was still stinking of blood and sweat, overwhelming the scent of the leather. She would hopefully be able to replace it soon, and with something a bit more durable. Neeshka had told her about a merchant who could provide simple enchantments. She was planning on seeing him soon.

She lined up the extra weapons they had taken mostly from orc corpses, with intention to sell. Most possessed only a hint of magic, from the ability to radiate light in darkness to enhanced sharpness. The axe of Yaisog, which burst into flames every time it hit something, should fetch the highest price of the bunch.

There was a light knock.

Brianna laid down the last dagger and walked over to open her door – then couldn't keep herself from making a face.

"I see you have returned," Elanee said lightly and stepped forward, into the room.

"I see you have too," Brianna replied evenly. "Shame."

The one word got to the druidess, but Elanee, ever the masochistic one, seemed intent on having a conversation.

"I hoped that we would be able to put these differences behind us."

Brianna sighed inwardly and stepped back, letting herself fall back onto her bed. She was getting too exhausted to stand.

"Can't," she replied evenly. "Because I' not really prepared to forgive you."

"Hopefully, one day you will understand." The elven woman sounded sad, but Brianna was not having any of that. It was bad enough that Elanee kept her from being able to go to sleep. She was not going to try and find sympathy for the woman.

"I won't even try to unless you stop being so damned condescending. I can't even tell you what a treat it was to not have to listen to that for a while."

Elanee sighed deeply at that.

"I made some disconcerting discoveries on my journey to the Skymirror," the druidess told her then.

Brianna covered her eyes with one of her arms to block out the light. "Don't care."

"Corruption is spreading. My circle, the Circle of the Mere, is _gone_."

"Don't care."

"Just gone, Brianna. All my fellow druids, vanished. The animals are scared and aggressive, the druids of the Neverwinter Woods are feeling it too. The Skymirror itself is protected by powerful enchantments, but even it had been corrupted, by the same sort of shadow priest we fought back in the Highcliff ruins."

"Don't…" Brianna flung out her arm and sat straight up when Elanee's words finally hit her. "What?"

"Do you remember? The dark priest, back in those ruins?"

"Yes, of course I do. We fought another in an orc lair in the Sword Mountains."

Both of them were silent for several long seconds.

"Oh, this is very bad news," Elanee said finally.

"Did he attack you?" Brianna wanted to know. "How did you get away?"

"I fled," Elanee replied evenly. "I changed my shape to that of an eagle and took to the skies."

"Smart," Brianna conceded.

"Thank you."

She fell back onto the bed again and stared up at the ceiling, thinking.

"The priest back at Highcliff was talking about an attack on Fort Locke," she recalled. "The one in the mountains was working with the orcs, and I assume the torturer we killed was working with them as well. They were planning on breaking the emissary's will, to use him to infiltrate Neverwinter."

"Treefather preserve us," Elanee whispered.

"Fort Locke is a Neverwinter outpost, as is Old Owl Well. Someone is trying to weaken the city's reach strategically." Brianna frowned. "How does the one at Skymirror fit into it though?"

"The druids have always warned city-dwellers when they perceived danger connected to nature," Elanee filled in the gap for her. "Stop us from communicating and from doing out duties, and the people in Neverwinter will remain unaware of what is happening for much longer."

"Oh, bloody hells, this is like a whole conspiracy. And there must be far more to it than just those three priests."

"As I said before, the druids of my circle…"

"Are gone, yes, I got that." Brianna did feel a bit mean glossing over something that was obviously causing Elanee a lot of pain. On the other hand, the druidess deserved every bit of it.

She raised her head to look at the other woman. There were dark rings around Elanee's eyes, and she looked as worried as Brianna had ever seen her.

"Alright," she said and dropped her head back down. "I will concede that this has been helpful, so thank you. I'll make sure the information gets to Captain Brelaina. If you find out anything else, let me know. That does not mean we are friends all of a sudden."

"I understand." Elanee sounded carefully neutral. "Thank you for listening to me."

Brianna closed her eyes as soon as she heard the click of the door, indicating the druidess had left.

"Blast it," she said to no one in particular. "Now I'm going to have to write another whole report."

* * *

Duty called once more the next day.

Brianna arrived at the meeting spot, the southernmost watchpost in the docks district, far earlier than she planned to. She had given herself plenty of time to stop at Sand's shop, but he had been out, and she hadn't seen the sense in returning to the Flagon just to wait there.

Now she was leaning against the wall of a sundry shop next to the watchpost, half-hidden in the shadows. The post was deserted apart from her, and she had long ago learned to be careful not to make herself a target in the docks. It might have been a good idea to take Khelgar with her, but the dwarf, like everyone else, deserved some more rest.

The ship would be coming in towards the middle of the afternoon, the sergeant had told her the day before. They needed to be ready to intercept anyone trying to leave it.

_I am ready, anyway. Now if only everyone else would show up, because this really isn't fit to be a one-woman operation._

When finally someone did show up, she changed her mind and fervently wished that this could have been a one-woman operation after all.

"Good afternoon, Marshal Cormick, Sir," she said icily when he was close enough to hear her. He spun, his eyes searching before he spotted her in the shadows, and she gained some small satisfaction from having been able to surprise him.

"Ah," he said, and then he was silent for some time. She watched him trying to hide a number of emotions from showing on his face. He was terrible at it.

_Well, nothing like getting straight to the point._

"Haven't seen you in a long time," she started out, neutral enough. "Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that _you got me sent to the Sword Mountains, you gods-damned bloody bastard!_"

He looked so guilty that she thought she could probably get away with the insult.

"Brianna," he started out, taking a step towards her and then backing up again.

Not 'Storm'. 'Brianna'. Well, at least he didn't waste time pretending this wasn't personal.

"Brianna, I'm sorry." Finally he got it out, and she glared at him.

"Yeah, I bet you are."

He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping, and stepped forward again, into the same shadow that was sheltering her.

"Look, I really am. I didn't mean…" He lifted one hand, as though to touch her arm, but apparently thought better of it. "It was my fault. I made an error in judgment, a big one. And I didn't think… I'm not fit to be your superior any longer, Brianna, and I needed distance."

"And this was the only fucking way you could think of achieving that?" She was itching to slap him, or to grab him by the shoulders and drive him against the opposite wall. It surprised her to realize how fast the fury and the feelings of betrayal had come back to the surface, feelings she had thought forgotten during her time at Old Owl Well. "Damn it Cormick, you know how important getting into Blacklake is for me. I told you people's lives could depend on it, and I wasn't lying. I _trusted_ you!"

"I'm sorry!" He was yelling it, sounding desperate. "You think I didn't regret the words as soon as they left my mouth? If I could have taken them back I would have, but the Captain wouldn't hear it."

She could have sworn his eyes were glistening a little. He really did look pitiful.

"I could have filed a complaint against you," she said as soon as the idea came to her. "I could have filed one hell of a complaint, but I didn't. You owe me, Cormick."

He looked stricken.

"Yes," he agreed eventually. "Yes, I do."

She crossed her arms before her chest and gave him her best glare.

"Then get me. Into. Blacklake."

He rubbed the palm of his hand across his face.

"You'll have heard that there were two more murders?"

"Duncan told me, yeah. Two more noblemen." She shifted slightly, trying to make it impossible for him to read her face. "Doesn't change the facts. I need to get in there. And I think I've done more than enough to prove my goodwill to this city, and that I've got nothing to do with whoever is loose in that district."

She saw him nod.

"I'll speak to Brelaina about it when I report about this mission."

"Thank you." She softened her tone a little. She wanted him to feel guilty as all the hells, but not backed into a corner. The mention of filing a complaint against him might have pushed it a little.

"What _are_ we doing right now?" she asked, belatedly.

"Luskans," he replied flatly.

"Well?" She expected a bit more than that out of him, and gave him the appropriate look. "What about them?"

"Have you read up on Neverwinter's history?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I know about the war. I know it's the reason why Luskans aren't exactly welcome here, though they do have an ambassador. I know that most of Neverwinter thinks that Luskans are scum who would sell their own mother to further their agendas. Would you like me to write you an entire report on the matter, or are you going to tell me what's going on here already?"

"We got word that they are trying to smuggle agents into the docks again, now that we've gotten crime here under some control. Trying to fill in the gap Moire's death left, I suppose. Orders are not to allow anyone past us and tell them to leave. There's a good chance though that they won't simply take no for an answer."

"Well, better than more githyanki, at least." Brianna turned her head and squinted towards the ships lined up at the dock, bathed in the late fall sunshine. "What's the ship's name?"

"Sea Ghost." Cormick paused, as though reluctant about whatever he was going to say next. "We took out one of their hideouts yesterday, you know. A house by the merchant district, crawling with gith. Lost two men to some death machine, a kind of golem, with blades for arms. We did not even manage to take it down. And to make matters worse, we _still_ have no idea why we suddenly have a githyanki infestation in the city. Those green-skinned bastards will die long before they'll talk."

"Yes," Brianna agreed, and slipped her hand into the pouch that held the shards. They were humming gently against her skin, as always. "It's all very mysterious."

The rest of their team for this mission came walking up to the watchpost at this point, effectively ending their conversation. Brianna recognized one of the recruits from the beginning of her training with Cormick, the other three she did not know. They all saluted dutifully to Cormick, and then to her after spotting the golden insignia on her cloak.

Their wait was a short one, as the Luskans did them the favor of being on time. They stood and observed the harbor for less than twenty minutes before the vessel in question docked. As the sailors tied knots at the speed of lightning, Brianna, Cormick and one of the other watchmen marched towards the ship. The other three hung back.

One of the sailors, who had just jumped onto the dock trailing a thick rope, looked up as they approached. His eyes narrowed.

"Get away from the ship, you lot," he barked at them. "Now!"

"We are with the City Watch," Cormick said, calmly, but with authority.

The sailor was not impressed.

"So? Doesn't mean you've got permission to go near the ship, now does it? Beat it already." He spat in the general vicinity of Cormick's boots.

"In case you weren't aware of the fact, the City Watch controls this district," Cormick pointed out. "And we know you aren't here for the sightseeing."

To Brianna, it didn't sound like there would be a whole lot more talking, so she put one hand on the hilt of her sword and took a step forward, drawing even with Cormick.

"Stay back, Storm," he told her under his breath.

_Something_ changed.

The remaining sailors stopped what they were doing just as the wind picked up. Brianna blinked, and the number of men suddenly surrounding them doubled.

"And so the trap snaps shut, and the prey is caught," a pompous voice announced right behind her.

She turned to face a man wearing richly embroidered robes of solid blue. He looked quite young, probably only a few years older than Brianna herself, but his body language suggested utmost confidence. The air around him shimmered, suggesting a spell effect.

"Who in the hells are you?" Cormick asked, but the man had already begun to cast.

Brianna drew her sword and slashed at the mage. He winked out of existence, causing her to stumble forward because she had expected to meet resistance. Something impacted on her back and sent her sprawling, her blade slipping from her grasp.

The line of searing heat racing through her back told her she had probably been hit. She hadn't got the time to worry about that, however, because the injury would soon be the least of her problems if she spent any more time lying around face-down.

She grit her teeth and pushed herself up. Halfway, a pair of arms aided her. She accepted the help, turned her head and stared in the face of one of the other watchmen.

"Go fight," she ordered him harshly.

He obeyed, and she hurried to pick up her sword at the same time that she glanced up to assess the situation. Cormick was in trouble, surrounded by several of the sailors. Two watchmen had hurried to his aid. The third stood frozen and helpless, bound by some spell. Her eyes scanned the dock and finally found the man in blue, standing far from her at the very end of the dock and casting incessantly.

_Blast it all, I need to start taking my crossbow along with me._

The mage was the greatest danger, but she could not reach him from where she was. So she did the second best thing and joined the fray.

Whatever else she thought of her excursion to the Sword Mountains, there was no denying that she had gained quite a bit of fighting experience cutting down orcs, and her body obeyed her with satisfying speed and agility, weaving in between the sailors, jabbing wherever she could spot an opening, taking merciless advantage of any mistakes.

A soft, fluffy sensation told her a spell had hit her shoulder. Remembering with dread the last time she had succumbed to hostile magics, she went into a defensive stance and used every bit of concentration she could manage to brace her mind. Something made a grasp for her, as though a hand had reached into her head and was now trying to force her to stay still, to keep her thoughts from moving along freely. The struggle made her head hurt, but eventually she was able to shake off the sensation.

Her sight cleared, and the unfortunate man who was at this very moment attempting to take advantage of her distractedness found himself countered, then with a wound on his shoulder that practically rendered his sword arm useless. While he cursed profusely, she kicked his ankle, and he stumbled backwards, going into the water with a splash.

The really rough part was over after that. Cormick, she ascertained with a glance, was bleeding, but still in the fight. She rushed to help him after cutting down a sailor who had made the mistake of turning his back to her, and with assistance from the other watchmen, they dispatched the three remaining attackers. Deprived of his guards, he mage found himself unceremoniously tackled and pinned to the ground.

"Leave him alive, we'll need information out of him," Cormick ordered. Brianna found his eyes on her as she stood catching her breath. "Your back's not looking too good, Storm."

"Yeah, I know. How bad is it?" She felt mostly numb, so she reached with her right arm across her left shoulder to try and narrow down the location of her injury. Her fingertips came away bloody.

"Sliced right through your armor," Cormick explained helpfully, before reaching for and grasping her wrist. "Don't touch it, won't do any good. But hells Storm, you've gotten fast."

She accepted the compliment with a nod, and together they made their way down to the end of the dock. The mage clad in blue was wiggling like a fish, each of his wrists securely pinned by a watchman. He ceased movement as they approached and glared instead.

"So what is your name, eh?" Cormick peered down at the man, while Brianna stood by impassively. "Something the Blue, I would guess, seeing how the Luskan mages like to go by colors. We'll ask the Luskan ambassador nicely whether they happen to be missing a blue mage, then."

"Azure, you barbarians," the man squeezed out, looking furious.

"Something the Azure, then," Cormick corrected himself calmly, which enraged the man only further. "Don't try to cast anything. I'll make sure you choke on it."

"Ahja," the man spat. "It's Ahja the Azure. Get it right."

"Well then, Ahja the Azure. We both know that nobody in Luskan is going to claim association with you, now that you've failed to kill us so spectacularly. That puts you in a rather bad position. I could kill you right now with the law on my side, but why don't we see whether you can answer some questions instead, eh?"

The mage's laugh toed the line between desperate and insane. He seemed to be struggling to breathe, and foam was forming at his mouth.

"Cormick," one of the watchmen warned. The marshal knelt next to the mage.

"Who sent you?" he asked. "And you said before you attacked that this was a trap. Why? What could you possibly have to gain by killing a handful of watchmen?"

"A trap, yes." The mage began to shiver, as though he was freezing. "Not for you though. My master does not care about you. Just her."

Brianna felt her insides growing cold as she saw him nod in her direction.

"Her?" Cormick was baffled. "Why her?"

"Why me?" she echoed the question, and knelt as well.

"Crossed my master's schemes, twice already," the mage replied. His body was now jerking violently, to the point where the two watchmen holding him down could barely manage. "The master of the fifth tower... has great plans... and he will not tolerate... interference."

The man's skin had turned ashen. Brianna watched, frozen, as Ahja the Azure snapped for air over and over, struggling against some invisible force before he collapsed, head cracking against the wooden dock with finality.

They were all silent, frozen to the spot for several long moments.

"Bloody fucking hells," Brianna forced out as soon as she found her voice.

Cormick's eyes found hers. "You alright, Storm?"

She nodded.

Then she actually thought about it, and promptly changed her answer.

"Not really, no."

She felt numb above all, but she had a sneaking suspicion that her injury was responsible for that more than anything else. Below the numbness, there was fluttering, unruly panic.

One of the recruits finally passed her a vial filled with healing potion. It wasn't much, but better than nothing at all. She unstoppered it with shaking hands and gulped it down.

"I don't understand." That was Cormick again. The marshal looked worried as he helped Brianna to her feet. "He said you crossed his plans. Have you got any idea what he could be taking about?"

Brianna shook her head. "Nothing comes to mind. I haven't crossed any-"

She choked on the word.

_Someone is trying to weaken Neverwinter strategically. _

_Luskan is the greatest enemy Neverwinter has. _

'_Crossed my master's schemes, twice already.'_

"The shadow priests," she whispered. "We killed two of them."

She dropped the empty vial, and subsequently let loose one of Khelgar's very best curses.


	33. Chasing Shadows

**Chasing Shadows**

"Let me get this straight."

Captain Brelaina's voice cut through the silence like a whip. The wiry woman had been pacing to and fro in her office for a good while now, listening to their report. Brianna had seen her this anxious only once before, during the situation with Moire.

"Luskan orchestrated an admittedly clumsy but nonetheless dangerous attempt to take Lieutenant Storm's life."

"The mage pointed to her specifically," Cormick agreed. The marshal was leaning against a bookshelf near the door, looking grim and glancing Brianna's way more often than not. "Finish that already, Storm."

Brianna obediently drained the bottle she was holding. Cormick had taken her to headquarters immediately after the fight, helped her out of her armor, supplied her and himself with potent healing potions and then dragged her directly before Brelaina for a report. She felt a bit inadequate sitting in the captain's office in only her tunic and leggings, but it couldn't be helped. Through the small west-facing window, she could see the sun sinking slowly beneath Dolphin Bridge. It reminded her uncomfortably of how exhausted her body still was from the journey. Part of her simply wanted the captain to hurry it up so she could go to bed.

"Is it possible he was lying? Trying to cover up for something?" Brelaina asked both of them, but it was Cormick who gave her an answer.

"Don't think so. You know how they are in Luskan. His employer would most likely have killed him for failing, and he knew that."

"What was his cause of death, Marshal?"

"Geas, I'm certain."

"What does that mean?" Brianna interrupted a bit reluctantly. She did not enjoy exposing a lack of knowledge, but this was too important not to ask. "I know a geas is a magical contract. How can that kill him, though?"

"He must have broken it, obviously." Cormick frowned at the captain. "Geas probably forbid him to reveal anything about his employer. He did just that, so he died."

"But he volunteered the information. Why would he do that?" Brianna's mind raced to try and answer her own question. "He basically killed himself."

"Exactly." Cormick gave her a nod. "He knew his life was about to end, either by my hand or by that of his employer. He chose to go out his own way. Might have held a bit of a grudge against whoever sent him, too, if he gave him up so easily."

"Ah, the mysterious employer." Captain Brelaina halted her steps. "All we know about him is his title, is that correct?"

"Master of the fifth tower," Brianna repeated Ahja the Azure's words. "Is that some sort of official title in Luskan? Could we find out who he is through that?"

"The Hosttower, yes," Brelaina replied without hesitation. "The true power in the city of Luskan, the mages. They do have these exact titles, one for each spire extending skyward from the base tower, each one born by a powerful mage."

Brianna's heart sank. This sounded far more dangerous than anything she had faced before. She had no desire to get caught up in some magical power-struggle, and in an ongoing war between two cities. She had to find a way to extract herself from this mess in progress.

"So we are dealing with one of these mages from the Hosttower then?" she asked to be certain.

"I would agree, but there is one problem." Captain Brelaina gave her a meaningful look. "The Hosttower has only four spires."

"Some Luskan trick, no doubt," Cormick grumbled.

Brelaina pulled out her chair and sank onto it. "What is more important," she said, shuffling papers, "is this plot which you have uncovered. These priests who animate the dead to do their bidding."

"I have half a report finished on them already," Brianna said quickly, before they could accuse her of withholding information. "The one near Highcliff I encountered before I ever came to Neverwinter, so I did not think to mention it until we defeated the second one in the mountains."

"And you said the druidess who traveled with you found another sabotaging her circle."

Brianna nodded.

"There must be more of them around," Cormick laid out for consideration. "If you and your companions encountered three of them just by chance, we would likely find more if we actually went looking for them."

"I will be sure to inform the Nine of the matter. I will also recommend to the council that they send some of the greycloaks that just returned from Old Owl Well down to Fort Locke." Brelaina's finger traced a line along the map on her desk. "There is a large cemetery near the fort, and plenty of unmarked graves in the vicinity. A veritable haven for a necromancer priest."

"The council will take weeks to follow that recommendation, if they do at all," Cormick frowned.

"My hands are tied otherwise, Marshal," the captain sighed. "And the Watch is busy foiling Luskan plots and combating the githyanki infestation. The Cloaktower mages and the Nine are occupied trying to solve the murders in the Blacklake district, and there you have it. All of the Neverwinter forces are tied up."

"Well that's just bloody convenient, isn't it?" Brianna mumbled.

Cormick shrugged. "Neverwinter fights for peace and justice, and Luskan takes advantage. That's the way these cowards have always done it."

"We may be able to do more once we have more information." Brelaina's hands were busily searching around her desk, until the captain found her quill. "I will treat this as a priority, so if you find out anything more that you think could be related to this matter, come to me straight away, Lieutenant." She dipped the quill into the ink and scribbled something onto a piece of parchment.

"Yes, Captain," Brianna replied.

"And though it should not be necessary for me to tell you, do take care not to put yourself at risk for another attempt at your life, Lieutenant Storm. Losing you would be a terrible blow for the Watch, and not only because of your excellent track record. I am afraid that until we have further information, keeping you off the more dangerous assignments is all I can do. But the Watch takes care of their own. Should you bring any further concerns before me, be assured that I will listen."

It was more than Brianna had expected, so she was pleasantly surprised by this concession. It suited her quite well that there was now a reason for the captain not to put her at risk, though of course the reason itself was none too pleasant. She would have to be alert not only for githyanki and bladelings now, but also for Luskans.

"Yes, Captain," she repeated.

The conversation appeared to be over after this, as Brelaina kept her head bent over her work and Cormick moved to help Brianna stand up. She threw him a look that made him stop in his tracks.

"Captain," he said, sounding nervous. "One more thing."

"What is it, Marshal?" Brelaina did not look up from her parchment.

"Lieutenant Storm requested access to the Blacklake district, and I believe…"

"For what reason, Lieutenant?" Brelaina raised her head and looked straight at Brianna, who swallowed nervously.

"To visit the sage, Aldanon," she said, because the truth was harmless enough. "I need information from him urgently."

"Very well." The captain lowered her head again and continued with her notes. "See me tomorrow, and I will arrange for an escort to take you."

And just like that, she had finally reached her goal.

* * *

There was a multitude of reasons why many of the youth of a village such as West Harbor had dreams of leaving said village behind and making their way elsewhere. The swamp was home, but it was also a danger, a limitation, and beyond that, the insect-infested waters also spread a stench that only those who had been born smelling it could ever truly ignore.

It was a place as simple as they came, lacking in culture and excess by its very nature. And even though Brianna had escaped the swamp, she had realized by now that being a Harborman was something she would always carry with her, whether she liked it or not, because it had defined her for so long.

Never had her simple origins been so obvious to her as they were when she first set foot into the Blacklake district.

Certainly, the size and the bustle of the whole of Neverwinter was a constant reminder of the fact that she had not grown up a city dweller. But the docks district, with its stench rivaling that of the swamp and its people always working for their next meal, had been easy enough for her to get used to, and she had even found that she missed the constant throng of people after the relative solitude she had experienced in the mountains.

Blacklake, however, was more alien to her than any place she had ever been. Where she had before considered the sprawling lawns of the merchant district to be excess, they now seemed utilitarian compared to the finely sculpted blooming yards she glimpsed through wrought iron gates. The merchant houses she had before thought large and luxurious paled in comparison with the fanciful manors that defined this district.

She let her gaze travel over the broad streets and sprawling parks and manors in the distance, which climbed the hill in front of them almost to the top. On the plateau, the two oldest buildings in Neverwinter shared the view –one the Academy, the other Castle Never, the political center of the city. Both of them had survived the war with Luskan with only minor damage, as opposed to the majority of the district, and in fact the city. The war was the reason why essentially every house in the Blacklake district was of recent, and fanciful, design.

Contrary to its boastful and embellished facades, the mood in Blacklake was rather subdued. Brianna supposed that this was to be expected, given that a third nobleman had recently been murdered, in the very same fashion as the two previous victims, and despite the extended lockdown and investigation, the one responsible had not been caught.

It was a bit illogical, she mused, that people would be hiding in their homes. According to the official reports, all three lords had lost their lives inside their own manors, with no signs of forced entry. Yet few Blacklake residents were walking the streets. Many of those that were wore the gold and blue robes of the Neverwinter Academy, the very same place Qara had once called home before ending up in the Sunken Flagon. Brianna thought they were likely students, running errands.

"Quite fancy, isn't it?" Neeshka remarked as they hurried through the streets after their Cloaktower escort. Since the Watch had temporarily relinquished control of the district to the Many-Starred Cloaks and the Nine, Brianna, even as a Lieutenant of the Watch and with Captain Brelaina's permission, was not authorized to wander through the district on her own. The fact that she had a string of civilians following her certainly did not help the matter either.

"Too fancy," Brianna replied evenly. "I don't quite understand the need for frills and embellishment everywhere. No purpose at all to it except to shove it down everyone's throats that they have money. Could these people at least not spend it on something that makes sense? Extra security, for example, now that all these murders happened."

"Oh, most of these places have far too much security," Neeshka assured her. "It's downright annoying. Private guards, dogs that will chomp your tail if you're not careful, and magical wards you'd need a whole Cloaktower education to get around. If you ask me, they really exaggerate."

"Even so," Brianna said, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "Please don't go wandering off, even if an opportunity presents itself. I would get a mountain of trouble for it." She watched Neeshka's attempt to look innocent.

"Hey, I don't think I'm the one you have to worry about here."

She was probably right, Brianna reflected with a sigh and turned towards the rest of the group. What had started as the one chance she might have to escape the githyanki had turned into a field trip.

Neeshka would have been offended at being left out of what might bring about the solution to the mystery of the shards. Khelgar had been rather upset that he had missed the opportunity to practice his fighting technique on the handful of Luskans she had encountered the day before and seemed hell-bent not to let Brianna walk about on her own ever again. Casavir had fretted about the possibility that there might be another attempt on Brianna's life and had not even considered staying behind at the Flagon. She silently wondered whether all paladins suffered from this sort of protector complex, but she had the good sense not to actually ask him this. If he wanted to play her human shield, she was not about to stop him.

Then there was Grobnar, who had just about lost it when he had overheard that they were going to visit a sage. At first Brianna had categorically refused to take the gnome along, but after Duncan had caught Grobnar happily busting kegs in an attempt to invent a more effective spigot for use at the Flagon, her uncle had resolutely demanded a break from the bundle of gnomish insanity.

Elanee had also decided to tag along, contributing to Brianna's sinking mood. At first, she was not quite certain why the druidess insisted on inflicting her company upon her, but then she recalled why she had ever encountered Elanee in the first place.

_I was tasked to follow the shards,_ the elven woman had told her, long ago.

So, naturally, whatever the sage had to tell them about the shards would be of interest to Elanee as well.

_If he can even tell me anything. _

Brianna's gut was churning. This was her one lead, her only hope. If it turned out to be a dead end… she had no idea what she would do.

She was saved further self-inflicted mental torture by her escort. The youthful-looking half elf turned into a partially fenced, neatly groomed yard and extended a slender hand.

"The manse of Aldanon," he introduced grandly. "I will wait here for you while you go about your business with the sage."

Brianna nodded and took a single step before he stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She stiffened, and he pulled back, likely sensing her discomfort.

"Just to prepare you, Lieutenant. Aldanon is well-known in this district, though he is reclusive. Lately though…" He hesitated.

Brianna had no patience for anyone attempting to tell her something and then stopping halfway through. "Lately?" she prompted, while at the same time giving the Cloaktower apprentice a scathing look.

"He has been even more detached than usual," he replied. "I just thought you should know."

She turned towards the mansion without another word and ascended the four steps to the front door. The closer she got to the mansion proper, the more she felt the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand up. As she stretched out her hand to use the knocker, she caught a flicker of something along the walls from the corner of her eye.

"Ugh, wards," Neeshka groaned nearby. "Just as I told you."

Brianna closed her hand around the knocker anyway. The iron ring tickled in her palm, but there was no magical backlash. She used it thrice, and after half a minute or so of waiting, there were footsteps.

"Are you with the delivery?" a voice called out. It was a full male voice with just a hint of shakiness, likely due to old age.

"No." Brianna amused herself for a second or so imagining herself as a skirts-wearing delivery girl, carrying goods through the district. She was certain that sort of work would drive her insane within a day or so. "I am with the City Watch. I have some questions for you."

"Questions?" the voice exclaimed. "Whatever for? Has there been more trouble?"

"No." She sighed inwardly. "I just need some information from you."

"Oh, but of course." She picked up a hint of excitement from the voice now. "Information is something of a specialty of mine, you know."

"That would be why I am here, yes." She clenched her teeth to keep from making a remark she might later regret.

A second later, the magical aura that covered the walls and door vanished with a _pop_. Brianna turned to her companions.

"Neesh, no stealing," she reminded the tiefling, who pouted. "Grobnar, for the love of the upper planes, no talking. Elanee…"

Before she could get around to giving the druidess an admonishment and a nasty look, the door swung open, and she turned to face Aldanon the sage.

The man resembled his voice in a lot of aspects. He was tall, had certainly even been formidable once, but it was obvious that old age had robbed him of strength, though given him a certain grace instead. His hair and full beard were snow white, and his eyes bright with intelligence.

"Come in, please come in" he invited, gesturing with one hand. " The wards are all disarmed now. Please forgive my questions at the door, had to be sure your business was legitimate, what with all of the troubles in the district now."

"Of course," Brianna agreed, and stepped past him, into the house. He did not appear to have heard her, or if he did, he certainly did not react.

"I would never intentionally stand in the way of the City Watch," he assured her, and stepped in front of her to lead them to a sitting room. "Well, unless there was nowhere else left to stand, of course. But that would not happen unless there was a flood."

He was very quickly beginning to remind her of Grobnar and the gnome's normally incessant talking. She hoped that this conversation would not be as painful as she was beginning to fear it might be.

They sat on pillows of a rich red color, which looked beautiful but smelled rather like mothballs. Aldanon himself sank onto a pillow opposite Brianna and spent a good long time arranging his robes.

"I was afraid, of course, that it would be more nobles sneaking around my home," the sage told them, blissfully unaware of Brianna's impatience.

This piqued Neeshka's interest. "Thieves I can understand, but why would _nobles_ sneak around this place?"

"Why because they want my house, of course," the sage replied. "Everyone wants to live in Blacklake, of course, but the district is basically full. So they have been trying various ways to convince me to give up my land so another fancy noble can move into my home." He had untied the ribbon at his collar and was now re-tying it. "That is the only reason I can think of why anyone would sneak around my home. Well…" He peered at Brianna, suddenly attentive. "Present company excluded, of course. You did come here for a reason, did you not? I can't recall if you mentioned it yet."

Rather than wasting any more time taking around the issue, Brianna loosened the string of her leather pouch and dumped the two shards onto the small, decorative table in front of her.

She saw Elanee tense and Casavir lean forward almost imperceptibly. Neither the paladin nor Grobnar even knew about the shards yet, and the other three had seen them only once, during Sand's scrying. Brianna felt oddly as though part of her had been exposed along with the shards.

"Great Tyr!" Aldanon exclaimed, and reached for one of the shards. "Well, this is certainly interesting."

"I came in possession of these two fragments recently," Brianna explained, and resisted the temptation to snatch the larger shard from the sage's grasp. "I need to know what they are – and whatever else you can tell me about them."

Aldanon's bright eyes met her own.

"You have certainly come to the right place," the sage nodded. "My, how very exciting. I knew you would prove to be interesting as soon as you knocked on my door – wish I had known that earlier though, it would have saved some time, don't you think?"

Brianna declined to acknowledge this bit of nonsensical rambling.

"Do you know anything?" she asked, and Aldanon nodded.

"Oh well, I am not certain. I believe I might."

Then the sage pushed himself up from his pillow, stood, and marched out of the room.

Brianna rolled her eyes at the sage's back. Her patience was wearing a little thin. She picked up the remaining shard from the delicate table and followed after the old man, the others shadowing her.

"Do you need to look in your books?" she asked hopefully, because if this was the case, they could at least help and speed up the search, which seemed preferable to waiting out the man's ramblings. But Aldanon did not lead them to any books, but into a room that looked rather a lot like a laboratory, including shelves stocked with alchemical ingredients and delicate apparatuses that would have made Simmy green with jealousy.

Neeshka whistled. "This is nice. I bet you could cook up all sorts of potent potions here!"

But Brianna's attention was focused on the glass dish up on a shelf Aldanon was now reaching for, which contained an object with a rather familiar silver shimmer.

"Another shard?" she asked, her voice suddenly shaky. "_You_ have another shard?"

"Oh yes," Aldanon agreed, apparently oblivious to her strong reaction to the object. "It found its way to me quite some time ago, in fact. Did all sorts of tests on it, but they were all inconclusive. However," the sage continued, dropping the shard of Brianna's he had still been carrying into another dish, "I never had another shard to compare it against."

"Hold on a moment, you are going to do tests?" Brianna's mouth was suddenly dry. "I had these scried once, and the results were a bit explosive."

"Oh, it will be nothing so invasive," Aldanon assured her. She stepped back anyway and watched a little skeptically as the sage reached for a jar whose contents looked suspiciously like quicksilver, and then turned his back to her and went to work.

She could see little of what he was doing, but as the minutes ticked by, she became marginally less tense. There was no magical itching, no static electricity permeating the air. Whatever the old man was doing to the shards did at least not cause them to react. So she resigned herself to waiting and closed her eyes, hoping silently that Aldanon really did know what he was doing.

Apart from the occasional loud breathing or shifting, and the rustling of Aldanon's robes, it was quiet in the laboratory for quite a long time.

Finally, the sage turned around again with an exclamation of joy. "Oh, this is fascinating!"

"_What_ is, precisely?" Brianna asked impatiently. "What did you find out?"

"Oh, quite a lot, quite a lot." The sage took a shard in each hand and then exited the laboratory, leaving them no choice but to follow him like a gaggle of geese all the way back to the sitting area.

"First of all," Aldanon began as soon as he had sat down, "it appears that these shards contain latent magical energy, either from an enchantment when they were whole, or from their method of destruction."

Brianna nodded. This part was not entirely news to her. _Residue from demon's fire or something_, Duncan had said.

"They also resonate when brought together," Aldanon added. He stretched out both of his hands, palms up, and she took the two shard and held them together with the one she had kept.

The sudden emanation of power took her breath away. Quite literally, the air became so thick with magic that she had trouble filling her lungs, and she sat there and gasped for breath for several seconds before the feeling, and the magic, lessened to a constant, strong vibration of the metal that she could feel throughout her entire body.

"Interesting," Aldanon remarked, and she looked up to find that he was watching her carefully, along with everyone else in the room. "You seem to have a rather strong reaction to the shards. I haven't seen anything quite like this before."

"Indeed," she said, still shaky. "You wouldn't happen to know what might cause me to react this way, would you?"

The sage tilted his head. "Not really, unless you happened to have a connection to the sword itself, though I do not know how such a connection…"

"What sword?" Brianna interrupted, suddenly feeling cold.

"Why, the shards," Aldanon replied. "Didn't I already tell you? They are the pieces of what used to be a githyanki silver sword."

Silence laid heavily over the room for a long moment.

"Well," Neeshka said then. "At least now we know what exactly the githyanki are doing here."

"Not helpful, Neesh," Brianna muttered, but Aldanon was nodding cheerfully.

"Oh yes, indeed," the sage agreed, all scholarly enthusiasm. "Do you know all about the githyanki? Nasty creatures, though I have never met one myself. They dwell on the astral plane, that magical dimension which coexists with ours, you know, and they are ruled by a lich queen. Used to be humans, they did, or so the legend goes. They lived on another plane of existence, but their entire race was enslaved by mind flayers. All rather unpleasant, really. Then came Gith, who led her people into a rebellion and finally accomplished their freedom. Left them bitter and vengeful though. I wouldn't particularly want to meet one."

This was the part that Brianna was vaguely familiar with from Daeghun's books.

"But what about the sword?" she asked.

"Well," Aldanon started, then paused and frowned at the wall for several moments. "The silver swords, of course, are the famed weapons of the githyanki. Very powerful, and deadly to anyone traveling the astral plane. Have you ever seen a wizard sending his consciousness to the astral plane? They create a projection, connected to their real body by a silver cord. Killing the projection does not harm the wizard, but cut the cord between the wizard and his consciousness, and he dies instantly. Silver swords can do that, cutting silver cords. As I said, rather powerful. They also turn into columns of shimmering liquid when wielded in combat, I am told."

"Alright." Brianna raised her hand to try and stop the man's flow of words. "They are powerful, enchanted weapons, I get the point. My question is, why are the githyanki hunting for these shards? So the sword broke. Why would they not forge another and move on?"

"Oh, but to the githyanki… well, obviously, their silver swords are enormously important to them," Aldanon replied. "They are not simply forged like ordinary swords, but given by the lich queen to only the greatest of githyanki warriors. As a result, they are rare and very highly prized."

His words caused Brianna to want to bury her face in her hands.

_Great. This is getting better and better. _

"There is even a special group of githyanki called Sword Stalkers. Their sole mission is to recover any lost githyanki silver swords. They are quite relentless and will go to extraordinary lengths to accomplish their mission."

"Sword Stalkers," Brianna repeated tonelessly, and wondered how much worse her situation could possibly get.

"Yes," Aldanon agreed cheerfully. "I imagine they will particularly interested in these shards, and if they pursue you specifically, as you mentioned, they may even think you were the one who broke the sword. You see, I have never heard of a silver sword being broken before. I wonder how it came to pass." Then the sage was silent, his well of knowledge apparently exhausted.

Brianna wanted to throw up.

_I hate you, Daeghun. I hate you with such passion. _

Why could her foster father not simply have given the damn shard to the githyanki instead of getting her saddled with it? And why in the nine hells did the shards of a githyanki silver sword resonate with her?

When she asked Aldanon just that, he looked to be at a complete loss for the first time.

"I haven't got any idea," he replied kindly, and gave her a smile. "I really am not an expert on this topic, you know. That would have been Ammon Jerro. He even owned a silver sword."

"Who?"

Brianna clung to the unfamiliar name with every last bit of hope she had left.

"He was a court wizard in Neverwinter, decades ago," Aldanon replied willingly. "Nice fellow, though a bit absent minded."

"Sounds like someone else in the room," Neeshka muttered, just loud enough for Brianna to hear. It earned the tiefling a chastising look from Elanee.

"Of course, Ammon Jerro passed away quietly some years ago," Aldanon continued. "When I first acquired this shard and suspected what it might be, I attempted to access Ammon Jerro's research on the sword. Unfortunately, the information was lost with his death. Or his family might have it, or possibly it might be in his haven."

"His haven?" Brianna repeated.

"Yes, his private retreat, or so the story goes. Of course, nobody knows where the haven might be located, though if you dug deeply you might be able to find hints to his location in the Neverwinter archives. The secured archives should even have records of his extended family, if you are interested."

The one, tiny strand of hope to cling to. The archives.

Brianna nodded mechanically.

"Well, I do believe this is all I can tell you," the sage admitted. "It was lovely chatting with you though, so very interesting."

"It was," Brianna agreed, and surreptitiously slipped all three shards into her leather pouch. It wasn't like Aldanon actually needed his shard for anything, especially now that the mystery was solved, as far as the old man was concerned. She, however, might need the third shard at some point.

"Do you think our lovely escort will mind making a second stop?" she asked no one in particular.

"The archives, you mean?" Khelgar sounded skeptical. "I don't see what more digging in tomes might do fer us, but I suppose it couldn't hurt, eh?

* * *

The archives were silent as Brianna and her companions walked through the narrow hallways in search for answers. The air was dry and dusty. Her heart was beating far too fast for her liking.

"Secured archives, here!" Neeshka pointed, and depressed the handle of the door bearing the sign. It opened easily and allowed them access.

"Why do they call it the secured archives, anyway?" Brianna wondered out loud, regarding the shelves of enormous leather-bound volumes. "Doesn't look very secure to me.

"It concerns me that we have not yet encountered any of the caretakers," Elanee admitted. Brianna rather agreed. There was something wrong here. She had, however, more pressing concerns.

"Let's worry about that after we have the information we need," she decided. "Start searching, everyone. We need the records of the Jerro family."

"Erm," said Grobnar, who had, of course, curiously started to read the one tome that lay open on the rickety table. "I do believe this is them, right here."

"Opened to the exact page?" Brianna's heart sank as she leaped to the only logical conclusion. "That can't be coincidence, blast it all. Someone must have overheard us at Aldanon's and gotten here first, then."

"Bit more than that," Neeshka said, and pointed. Casavir was the one who bolted for the dark area behind the shelf, and knelt next to the body that lay half-hidden there.

"Dead," the paladin reported hoarsely. "By Tyr, he was just cut down. His body is still warm."

Far too late they all drew their weapons. But the archives lay silent, abandoned by whoever had come before them.

Brianna had meanwhile approached the book, her eyes flying across the lines. "Closest relatives," she mumbled, and searched. "Only one living still. One Shandra Jerro, of Highcliff."

"I know her."

Elanee sounded as nervous as they likely all felt, though Brianna was approaching a state of panic. If whoever had gotten this information, likely the githyanki, got to this woman before they did, her one last chance was gone.

"How?" she wondered, scrutinizing the druidess. "Did we meet her when we were at Highcliff?"

"I did," Elanee admitted. "When I went out to find information about the local lizardling problem, I talked to some of the farmers in the area. She was one of them. Lives alone, outside the town."

"Well, she won't for much longer," Brianna predicted grimly, and closed the thick book. A dust cloud rose into the air. "Let's get out of here. We need to catch the next ship to Highcliff and hope Shandra Jerro is clever enough to run and hide until we get there."


	34. Threshold

**Threshold**

Shandra Jerro's farm was on fire.

"Bloody hells," Brianna groaned, looking at the inferno from the path. "Bloody fucking hells."

Her heart was pounding. Her sword was already slick with the blood of several githyanki and bladelings who had blocked their way from the Highcliff harbor to the farm. She had been glad to have both Khelgar and Casavir around to take the brunt of the attack, but she still had sustained several minor wounds, and much as it galled her, she'd squeezed out a word of thanks to Elanee, who had used her druid magic to heal her.

Grobnar, surprisingly, had also been quite helpful. She knew the gnome prided himself on knowing a little of everything, and he had first summoned a wolf by magic, then hung back and bizarrely plunked a cheerful song on his lute to accompany everyone else charging into combat, then finally made himself useful again by healing Khelgar's crushed shoulder. It was all a bit random, but at least he did not get in the way.

There were more githyanki surrounding the burning farmhouse. They had not noticed the small group standing under the birch trees yet, or maybe they simply did not care.

"She will die if we do not do something soon," Casavir warned.

"I'm not so sure," Neeshka said. "They are trying to smoke her out, they left an escape route. So they probably want her alive. Maybe they think she knows something."

"Either way, we'll need to be killing these githyanki." Brianna raised her sword in a rather resigned manner. "Elanee, you have met her. You and I could try to find a way in and get her out while the others hold off the githyanki."

Elanee looked strangely reluctant. "She likely does not even remember me," the druidess argued. "Maybe if someone else…"

"Just shut up and do it," Brianna interrupted, and jerked her head towards the farm. "Let's go."

In her current mental state, there was little room for arguments. She had killed and she knew she would again soon, so she maintained that careful emptiness in her head which allowed her to do so without her stomach revolting from the smell of the blood and the sight of the mangled bodies.

Following behind Casavir, who dutifully drew away the githyanki with a war cry, she dragged Elanee towards the back door of the farmhouse, and into the fiery hell.

The closest she had ever been to a burning building had been in West Harbor, when the bladelings had set the town on fire. That alone had been nightmarish enough – and she _had_ had nightmares about it – but she had never actually entered a place on fire before. If she had thought about it at all, she likely would have sent someone else instead, but all her mind considered at this moment was her one chance to find out about the shards going up in flames, and with it the only way she had out of this entirely fucked up situation.

So she braced herself, and did one of the most mortally stupid things she had ever done.

The smoke stung in her eyes. The heat was so intense that she thought her skin might melt right off. When she breathed, it felt like her lungs had caught fire. For a moment her mind rewound back to West Harbor, to standing downwind and smelling the village burning as people screamed.

_Focus_, she reminded herself, pulling her mind back to reality.

She heard Elanee gasp something, saw the druidess fling out her arms, and suddenly the searing heat was dulled a bit. At the same time, her entire body began to itch.

"Hurry," Elanee instructed, yelling to be heard over the crackling of the flames. "The spell won't last very long."

They bolted through the hallway, stumbling over warped floorboards. The air was hot enough to keep flimmering amd moving before their eyes, which, along with the tears Brianna's eyes were trying to cry because of the smoke, limited her vision severely.

The door at the end of the hallway was closed, but the wood had already begun to bend out of shape from the heat. When Brianna braced her boot against it, the door resisted only nominally before falling out of its frame and crashing to the ground.

Through yet another thick cloud of smoke, they entered what looked to be the kitchen. Brianna tried to make out details but the air was too polluted. Her eyes refused to stay open for more than a second at a time. Through the crackling of the growing fire, she heard Elanee cast again, and the smoke around them cleared a bit. It was all she needed to see the lone figure, a blond woman who held a kerchief pressed against her mouth and nose with one hand, and was at this very moment hurling a rolling pin in their general direction.

Brianna ducked, while Elanee neatly sidestepped the missile. When the woman frantically turned, likely on the lookout for another kitchen implement to throw, Brianna sprinted forward.

"Hey!" she shouted, and managed to grab the woman's wrist just before her hand could close around a heavy looking frying pan. "We aren't…"

The rest of her words were lost in a coughing fit. Shandra – at least she assumed that's who this was, since Elanee had said that the woman lived alone – seemed to get the point, however, and left the frying pan alone.

"Who are you?" she asked instead, and Brianna spent a moment wondering whether Shandra was naturally addled in her head or whether she had just inhaled enough smoke to seriously screw up her priorities.

"Later," she forced through her cough. "Get out of here."

"There are monsters out there!" Shandra yelled through her kerchief, gesticulating wildly.

A very loud noise that could not mean anything good cut the conversation short. Brianna turned just in time to see part of the hallway collapse through the doorway, and a rolling firecloud enveloping the debris.

_Qara would really love this place. Should have brought her along._

Then Brianna managed to snap out of her passive staring and tugged forcefully on Shandra's wrist to get the woman's attention.

"Another way out of here?"

Shandra pointed them in the direction of what turned out to be a window. The flames had not yet reached this corner of the kitchen, but the wood frame was hot and warped enough not to move when Brianna tried to force it open.

"We will have to break the glass," Elanee coughed, and Shandra promptly dropped her kerchief and made a grab for the frying pan.

"Move back," the woman said resolutely, and swung the pan.

Glass shattered.

Unfortunately, the broken window created a backdraft that sucked in flames from across the room. Shandra cried out and dropped the pan, trying to shield herself, and Brianna put out the fire in Elanee's hair with her gloved hands before turning towards the window and breaking as much leftover glass out of the frame as she could. Elanee ripped off her own cloak and laid it out over the glass shards, then she helped Shandra onto the counter.

A bit clumsily, the woman escaped through the window. Brianna went after her, cutting her arms open despite her best effort. As she hit the ground outside, she was greeted by a snarl that definitely was not human.

_Would have been too easy otherwise, wouldn't it?_

Brianna scrambled to get to her feet, but before she could draw her sword, the githyanki warrior slashed at her with his own. On reflex, she crouched low and raised her arms to shield herself and was rewarded by a searing pain running along the back of her right forearm.

"You're hurt!" Shandra yelped unnecessarily.

Brianna jumped back several steps trying to regain her bearings, and when the gith lounged for her again, her sword was in her left hand and she was able to block his swing.

"Kalach-Cha!" he snarled, and tried for a vicious swipe, which she managed to counter to drive him back a little. The move gave her a bit of confidence, which was exactly what she needed when he rained an entire series of blows down on her.

When he paused to snarl again, she forced him into a defensive stance with a number of fast swings, trying to use her speed to force him into a mistake. Her attacks were not strong enough to do major damage, but she focused on the muscles she knew he needed to wield his weapon properly, and when she finally found an opening and nicked him with the tip of her sword, he faltered.

She thought she had the upper hand exactly until she saw an entire group of bladelings approach.

"Elanee!" she cried out, watching out of the corner of her eye how the druidess, who had been fussing over Shandra, finally began to cast.

_Where is everyone else? They had better not be in trouble themselves, I am done rescuing people for the day._

Vines shot out of the ground, growing rapidly and, following Elanee's hasty hand gestures, wrapped themselves around the legs of the approaching bladelings. Shandra hurled a number of rocks at the creatures while Brianna found another opening to injure the inner thigh of the gith she was battling, and, when he grunted and stepped back, she followed it with a blow to his arm.

It was starting to get very uncomfortably hot at her back. They had to get away from the burning building before it was completely consumed. Brianna tried to end the fight then by forcing the gith to block her yet again and taking advantage of the sloppiness of his sideways swing, but just then one of the bladelings escaped the vines and ran towards her, weapon raised.

But a dwarven battle cry saved her.

The gith turned his head for just a moment to look at the oncoming dwarf, and Brianna thrust her sword just beneath his shoulder, twisting the blade and forcing him to drop his weapon in the process. She pulled back and finished the job with an underhanded thrust just beneath his ribs that pierced her opponent's body and brought him crumbling to the ground.

The bladelings did not last long, trapped as they were in the vines, with Khelgar swinging his axe madly and Grobnar pelting them with arrows from the little bow he carried. He was not a very good shot, but at least his general sense of direction was correct and he did not hit Brianna or the rest of the companions by mistake.

Far more worrisome was the sight of Casavir. When the paladin emerged from around a corner, he was carrying a lifeless tiefling body in his arms.

"What happened to her?" Brianna gasped, just as Khelgar sank his axe into the last of the bladelings. Casavir lowered the body carefully to the ground some distance from the inferno, and once Brianna had reached the two of them, she spotted the sizable lump on the side of Neeshka's forehead almost at once.

"She caught the hilt of a dagger," the paladin replied.

"Oh, blast it." Brianna knelt next to Neeshka. "Elanee?"

Without bothering with a reply, the druidess went to work on a healing spell.

"Not that I want to interrupt," said a tired voice, rough from smoke. "But who exactly are you people? And what in the hells is going on?"

_Oh, where to start?_

"You are Shandra Jerro, right?" It seemed a smart idea to make sure of that before saying anything further, Brianna thought, and she was relieved when the woman nodded.

Neeshka's entire body jerked at that very moment. Brianna held out her hands to steady her friend, glaring at Elanee in the process.

"What are you doing to her?"

"Head injuries are no simple thing to heal," the druidess replied, calmly enough to piss Brianna off immediately.

"Hey, excuse me!" Now she was getting attitude from the woman behind her as well. "My _house_ is on fire!"

"And my _friend_ is unconscious," Brianna snarled back. "While trying to rescue you, no less, so how about you shut it for a moment?"

Shandra followed that advice, crossing her arms before her chest and looking peeved. Brianna's attention, however, was taken up by Neeshka's hand, who had just squeezed hers gently.

"Awake now, Neesh?" she asked.

"You could make the dead feel ashamed of themselves with the way you dress people down," the tiefling mumbled, and blinked slowly. "Ow. I hurt."

Briefly Elanee's hands glowed with yet another dose of healing magic, then the power flowed gently into Neeshka's head. The tiefling sighed.

"Oh, that's better. I'm really warm though."

"Sorry about that. I'll remove the house on fire," Brianna replied dryly.

"Oh, right."

Neeshka sat up with some help, and observed the nearby flames with interest.

"Githyanki all gone?" she asked. "And hey, how did I get over here?"

"They'd better be gone," growled Khelgar, still holding his axe at the ready.

"Keep an eye out for strays though, please," Brianna asked Khelgar, and then turned back to Neeshka. "Casavir carried you."

She ignored the tiefling's look of horror in favor of soothing Shandra's growing impatience. The fact that she needed information from the woman had just re-entered her head, so she forced an apologetic smile on her lips.

"I'm very sorry about your house."

"You!" Shandra called, though she was not pointing at Brianna, but rather at Elanee, who had just straightened up from her kneeling position. "You! I remember you. You were the one who set my barn on fire. I lost my entire harvest!"

Brianna whirled around to stare at Elanee, whose shocked look matched that of Casavir.

"You did _what_?"

"I did no such thing," Elanee huffed, and Brianna actually enjoyed watching the druidess ringing for words. "I just talked to her, asked some questions. The lizardfolk were the ones who…"

"You distract me for a second, and then I turn around and the whole season's labors are going up in flames," Shandra growled. "I spent all this time trying to recover, to get ready for winter. And now you are back, and my house is on fire!"

"Look, it isn't our fault that others have it out for your property," Brianna started, but was uncharacteristically interrupted by Casavir.

"But we are at fault. It was us who led the githyanki to her, even though we did not mean to. Shandra is therefore out responsibility, and under our protection."

_Yeah, thanks Casavir. How deep are you going to dig that hole for us all?_

Brianna bit her lower lip and tried to think of the best way to salvage the situation while Shandra went off on another rant.

"Oh, that is just wonderful. You set some weird… _monsters_ on me, and then pretend to be rescuers! What do you want, money? I haven't got any of that, thanks to you, and even if I did, I sure as the hells would not give it to those responsible for my entire life going up in flames. Now that that's cleared up, I need you to get off my property."

With that, she turned and stumbled more than walked towards the burned-out barn in the distance.

"Well that went well," Neeshka utilized a healthy dose of sarcasm.

Brianna directed her angry glare Casavir's and Elanee's way.

"We need that woman under our protection for her own good. Now, all you two have achieved so far is to turn her against us, so I don't want to hear another damn word out of either of you while I go talk her into coming with us."

With them properly chastised, she stomped off after Shandra Jerro and hoped that the woman's stubbornness did not override her common sense and self-preservation.

Shandra turned only once, blond hair flying. "I told you to get lost!"

"They are going to be back, you know," Brianna called after her, trying to catch up. "Even if we leave, they'll regroup and come back to get you."

"I'll take my chances."

"You haven't _got_ any chances. Look…" Brianna tried desperately to figure out which strategy would get Shandra to listen to her. Lies? Truths? Half-truths? She settled for commiserating. There was not even really a reason for her to lie. "These same creatures attacked my home, killed my friend and have been hunting me ever since. I know more about your situation than anyone."

Finally, Shandra stopped in the middle of a muddy field and whirled around to face her.

"Are you telling the truth?" the woman asked harshly, but Brianna knew she'd won.

"I haven't got any reason to lie to you," she replied. "I know we didn't get off to a good start, and I don't know what happened when Elanee was here last, but you need to trust me, otherwise it'll cost you your life."

Shandra's expression changed then. The confrontational frown and tenseness around the mouth disappeared, leaviong her looking vulnerable, and somewhat desperate.

_Small wonder she's desperate, with her home still burning nearby. _

"So what do I do?" Shandra asked, sounding lost. "Why are they after me?"

Brianna thought hard before answering.

"We can't stay here. They are bound to return, and I'm sorry to say this, but your farm is pretty much a loss."

"Yeah," Shandra agreed, looking at her burning home in the distance.

"I know a place in Neverwinter where you would be reasonably safe," Brianna told her. "We can talk there too, and I will explain everything. There is a ship waiting for us in the Highcliff harbor that we can board and depart for the city right away."

Shandra stared. "Neverwinter? The only safe place you can think of is Neverwinter?"

"Yes," Brianna shrugged, and the back of her mind wondered why she had never asked Daeghun the same question when he had sent her on her way. "It's fairly safe. It has walls, it has the Watch, and I have lived in the Sunken Flagon for a while now and been perfectly fine, even with githyanki chasing me."

"The Sunken Flagon?" Shandra's tone was skeptical, but she had taken several steps to put her even with Brianna, and kept pace walking back to the rest of the group. "That doesn't sound terribly reputable."

"It's my uncle's inn." Brianna, trying all she could to give Shandra the impression that the previous argument had all been a terrible misunderstanding and she was actually the world's most trustworthy person, stretched out her hand towards the woman. "I'm Brianna Storm, by the way. Lieutenant of the Neverwinter City Watch."

"Oh. You are?" Shandra looked mildly impressed. "Well, I guess it's nice to meet you after all. I'm Shandra Jerro. Farmer of Highcliff. Well…" She gestured towards the remains of her home. "Formerly. Anyway, I suppose there isn't anything stopping us from leaving right away, huh?"

* * *

Brianna was glad that at least the journey back to Neverwinter brought no more surprises with it. She had wisely decided not to discuss anything of importance with Shandra on the ship, despite the woman's burning questions. All of them had agreed to be far more cautious after they had almost certainly been overheard when talking to Aldanon.

Casavir held the door open for everyone as they filed into the Flagon one by one. Brianna had barely set foot into the place when Qara's voice reached her ears.

"And where have you all been off to? Not that I care – but Duncan seems to think you've gotten yourselves into more trouble than you can handle." The sorceress sounded positively gleeful at the prospect.

"We were off having fun without you," Brianna replied, and gave Qara the sweetest smile she could manage in her tired state. "We played 'Rescue the farmer from the house on fire'. You would have loved it. Missed a spot, by the way."

She pointed at random, and Qara stared down at the table with disgust before sighing and throwing down her dishrag. There was nobody else in the taproom apart from the girl, leading Brianna to assume that her uncle had decided to close early for the night.

"You're back! I was worried sick!" Duncan burst out of the kitchen and grabbed Brianna in a hug, which she endured without enthusiasm. "What's with that strange note that you were off to Highcliff? And that it was an emergency? What happened? And… oh."

Duncan had noticed Shandra, who was taking in her surroundings with an air of distinct discomfort. Before Brianna could even open her mouth, her uncle had grasped the farmer's hand and shook it politely.

"Duncan Farlong, Shandra Jerro," Brianna gestured by way of introduction. "Long story, Duncan. The githyanki are after her, so I brought her here."

"But of course," Duncan fretted. "I'll have a room ready for you right away. Ale? And someone get the gnome to sing a tune to make the lady feel welcome!"

Bemused, Brianna watched as her uncle threw Grobnar a dirty look that lasted until the gnome went to fetch his lute, and then hurried behind the bar. It hadn't occurred to her until now that Shandra was really rather pretty, in a Highcliff-farm-girl sort of way. She had an interesting face. Her freckles, slightly upturned nose and slanted eyes made her look quite delicate, but they were coupled with a permanent no-nonsense expression and tanned skin from working on the fields. She also had unusual eyes of a very light hazel color, almost like honey, which captured the attention of a casual glance.

It also hadn't occurred to her that Duncan might be one to be taken with a pretty girl so easily, but he was certainly acting like it.

She was glad he was the only one, however, otherwise this might have been far more annoying. But Khelgar, she assumed, preferred his women dwarven, Grobnar was more likely to call a cog beautiful than a female, and Casavir…

_Casavir was hovering around her like a moth about to be burned to cinders_, her inner voice supplied helpfully.

_Though that's probably his protector's instinct speaking. Although…_

She watched as the paladin pulled out a chair for Shandra. Duncan hurried back with ale just then and managed not to spill any as he set one in front of Shandra, the other in front of Brianna, who pushed hers towards Khelgar. She was not in the mood for a drink.

"Alright," Shandra said after she had taken a sip of the ale. "So now we are here. You said it would be safe, so I want some answers. What in the hells happened, exactly? Why is my farm gone, and who in the hells were these creatures?"

Brianna tried her best to ignore the woman's entitled attitude. It was not all that easy though, with her body still hurting from the fight and Duncan all but cleaning Shandra's boots while she sat.

I need to get this over with and go to bed, and hopefully by tomorrow I'll be in a slightly better mood.

"Basically," she said, figuring there was no sense in dancing around the issue, "it all comes down to Ammon Jerro."

Shandra's head turned abruptly, as she obviously recognized the name. At this moment, however, Grobnar distracted all by hurrying back into the taproom with his lute and promptly starting on a jaunty tune they could have danced to – had anyone been remotely in the mood.

"He was my grandfather," Shandra admitted, turning her mug in her hands and obviously trying to ignore the gnome's far too cheerful music. "Or my great-grandfather. Or… well, I'm not sure, actually. But he died some time ago, that I do know."

"Someone told me he was researching something important," Brianna explained, gritting her teeth as she threw Duncan a pleading look. "That's what I need to find, his research. Were you aware of the nature of that research? Or did you ever hear of a silver sword your grandfather might have possessed?"

Shandra shook her head, just as Duncan marched over to Grobnar and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"This isn't a party or a dancehall, gnome. By all the ice in Cania, play something slower."

Grobnar relented, and started on the same tune again, this time playing at less than half the previous speed. The result was a bizarrely cheerful ballad that seemed to run out of steam on every note.

"I'm sorry, really." Shandra put down her mug, looking at Brianna with what might have been pity in her eyes. "I can't really help you with anything like that. I don't even remember meeting him. My mother told me he saw me a few times when I was still a babe, but that was such a long time ago. She said he would sing to me, and cradle me, and I would pull out his beard hairs."

Khelgar looked rather horrified at the mere idea, and covered the tip of his own beard protectively with both hands.

"Well, that's cute and all." Brianna stifled a yawn. "But a sage told me any information Ammon Jerro might have had would likely be in his haven. I need access to it."

"His haven?" Shandra actually rolled her eyes. Brianna wanted to slap the woman. "Oh, but that's just a fairytale. My mother would threaten me with it when I wasn't doing my chores, telling me of a labyrinth full of traps and demons from the abyss and such. But it isn't real."

"And you are absolutely sure about that?"

"Well… no." Shandra faltered. "But, I mean, wouldn't I know if it actually existed?"

Grobnar hit an impossibly high note at that very moment, and held it. A collective groan of protest ran through the room as everyone covered their ears.

"Why thank you," the gnome smiled, oblivious, and played on.

"I am not saying," Brianna continued the conversation, one hand still held protectively over her right ear, which was closest to Grobnar's lute, "it is necessarily the place your mother invented – though I'm sure there are plenty of kindly old court wizards who keep demons locked in their basement – but no matter what the haven actually is, I need to find it."

"Well I don't know where it is," Shandra repeated impatiently. The many questions and the music seemed to have brought her to the brink of tears.

"Shandra," Casavir said soothingly, and reached out to cover her hands protectively with his. Brianna watched Shandra relax almost imperceptibly as the holy aura begun to take effect. "Please remember that we do all we can to protect you. We are not trying to pressure you. And we realize that you may not know the answers which we seek. All we ask is that you help us find them."

Shandra appeared to calm even further. Her body leaned towards Casavir's, probably without her even realizing she was doing it.

"It might be of help if we took her to see Aldanon," Elanee suggested. "He knew your grandfather," she explained, turning to Shandra. "Together, the two of you may be able to make headway on this mystery."

It was not much of a plan, but it was as much as they were likely to come up with, as tired and worn out as they were.

Shandra nodded her agreement.

"Can we all go to sleep, then?" Brianna yawned. "I am bloody tired, and we've got a lot to do tomorrow. Captain Brelaina won't like me asking for another pass to Blacklake, but with a bit of luck, I'll be able to wheedle it out of her. Grobnar, you can stop playing now."

The gnome ended his song at random and bowed twice before carrying his lute back to his quarters. Casavir and Duncan nearly had an argument about who would get to lead Shandra to her room, but the paladin, ever the gentleman, relented.

Brianna couldn't keep from being a bit annoyed at this turn of events as she walked back to her room. It could have been worse, she supposed, but even so, she was not looking forward on having to protect Shandra in addition to herself from now on. She hoped, of course, that Aldanon and Shandra together would be able to help them find Ammon Jerro's haven, but that hope was dimmed by the realization that nothing in her life ever seemed to go according to plan.

And she doubted tomorrow was the day this would change.


	35. Maelstrom

**Maelstrom**

The night was cool and calm. She should have been able to rest easily, yet she found herself tossing and turning, her body struggling to let go of the tenseness of the day and relax into sleep. The moon, shining full and silver through the glass panes of the window, did not help her case.

True sleep was as elusive to her as the solution to the mystery of the shards she had gotten herself tangled up with. Thoughts about the matter raced through her head, disconnected fragments that had no real purpose, did not help her think, but haunted her in the disquiet half-sleep that was the only concession she managed to force from her body.

The memories flashed before her inner eye, unwilling to loosen their grip on her this night. She was swimming in a sea of them, all jumbled together and disorienting. _The shards, reflecting the light that hit them so brightly. Fire, all around her, spreading faster than she could run. The salty smell of the Sea of Swords as she had stood on the deck of the ship. The shards again, humming in her hands, trying to tell her something. Stifling her breathing. The sage's voice, so calm and full. The ugly snarl of a gith. A door slamming nearby._

Some part of her subconscious had wormed its way into her frantically-paced memories and was trying to capture her attention, to sound an alarm amidst the chaotic thoughts.

_Duncan, shouting, sounding panicked. _

She broke free of the grip of the memories and realized almost too late that not everything running through her head had been part of her dream. Purely on reflex, she was already rolling sideways and out of bed as she finally opened her eyes.

She landed in a crouch on the floor and heard someone's scream being carried through the Flagon. There was the sound of glass breaking, and the unmistakable snarls of those she had hoped to be safe from here.

_Githyanki. The githyanki are attacking. _

She shook off the disorientation and reached for her sword. Only a second later, her door shook under a sudden impact.

When the green-skinned warrior burst into her room, she was ready. He had not even spotted her yet when her sword connected just above his hipbone. She was rewarded with thick blood splattering onto her tunic and legs, then ducked underneath his swing and blindly stabbed at him again. He doubled over and subsequently fell to his knees, which gave her the opportunity to stab him again, right through the back.

She kicked his weapon away before vaulting over him and out into the hallway. There was no time to put on her armor and fiddle with the many buckles, she would have to make a run for it in just her tunic, and try to find the others before one of the attackers managed to cut her down.

All of her senses were sharp as they could be trying to determine where the next attack would come from. There was rather a lot of noise coming from the direction of the taproom, but if she hurried there without any regard for what, or rather who, may lay in waiting between her and it, she deserved the spell or weapon that was sure to hit her.

Part of her conscious mind told her that her legs were shaking, likely from cold and fear. She _was_ afraid, feeling naked without armor, without anyone nearby that she knew had her back, or was willing to stand in harm's way for her.

_Stop whining and get a grip_, she chastised the weakling girl inside her she had hoped was gone for good.

Sword raised, she walked along the corridor as quietly as she could. But even stealth could not help her when a door to her right opened and an entire group of githyanki came bursting into the corridor.

She ran. It was the only sensible course of action, all she could do when she was barefoot with no armor and alone, confronted by six or seven of them at once. She turned the corner with enough speed to collide with the wall, caught herself, turned, and smacked into yet another gith. This one appeared to be some kind of mage, wielding power in his palms instead of a weapon. She did not duck in time to avoid a fistful of magic being thrown her way and catching her squarely in the chest.

When she realized that her limbs would no longer obey her, she knew she was in trouble.

Githyanki fighters just behind her, and a mage in front. If there was a way for her to avoid dying, she could not think of it.

Ignoring the aggressive growls behind her, she focused on the magical energy holding her captive. It was some sort of immobilization spell, she could feel it wrapping around her muscles, clutching at them. She knew just enough about magical theory to be aware that resisting a spell was nothing but a power struggle with the mage who had cast the spell, pitting her own mental power against the mage's trained mind.

An arrow streaked past her closely enough to brush the skin of her cheek, and pierced the githyanki mage's eye dead center. It quivered obscenely in the socket. The shock and a surge of adrenaline rippling through her allowed Brianna to shake off the spell, and she turned, sword raised, just to realize that the group of githyanki had been caught by several handfuls of Neeshka's choking powder. They were surrounded by the fine green dust, coughing and retching as the tiefling sprinted past them and past Brianna towards the taproom.

She turned further and reeled back at the unexpected sight of Bishop, half-naked and holding a longbow. In any other situation, she would have expected some sort of scathing remark from the man, but he was, for once, all business as he nocked another arrow.

"Move," he snarled, and she turned and ran after Neeshka.

The taproom was a battlefield. Furniture lay in ruins and blood splatters painted the walls, and the fighting was still going strong as Brianna burst through the door after the tiefling.

There was no time for her to reorient herself, because the first blade came flying towards her as soon as she stepped out into the room. She managed to block the swing, barely, but before the gith could get in a second attack, he was jumped by a rabid-looking badger. Elanee's companion animal mauled the gith ferociously. Brianna avoided the wild swings of the green-skinned creature's blade, looking for an opening, but a magical flaming arrow sent by Qara got there before she did. The gith screamed as the side of his face burst into flames. A clay mug, thrown by Duncan, downed the warrior for good.

Brianna hurried across the room in order to assist Elanee. The elven woman had been backed into a corner by two attackers, and much as Brianna would have liked to leave her to her fate, they were sure to need the healing afterward. So she hugged the wall to avoid the powerful swings of Casavir's hammer, stepped around Grobnar, who had conjured another wolf to fight for him and was throwing around insults such as "I bet your grandmother never even flossed her teeth!", and eventually reached the druidess.

One of the two gith fighters turned as she reached them, and she brought her sword up just in time to block an attack so strong her arm went entirely numb.

She cursed in her head, because it would not do to waste breath while fighting, and managed to transfer her sword to her left hand just before she would have dropped it. As Elanee lashed out wildly with the sickle she carried, Brianna picked her way between debris from broken chairs and tables while continually blocking a number of weaker blows.

Eventually, her opponent made the forgivable mistake of being distracted by the contents of a bottle of acid being thrown at his face. Brianna finished him while he writhed in agony, threw a quick word of thanks Neeshka's way, and then turned to figure out where she was needed next.

The room had been very nearly cleared of intruders by their combined forces. Duncan had stopped throwing mugs as missiles and had taken to expertly wielding a dagger. His arms were already red with blood to the elbow. Bishop had likewise dropped his bow for a longsword, and was just now viciously slashing away at the last githyanki in sight until the creature sank to the floor.

The mismatched group standing around the room was presenting a sight that might have been comical under other circumstances. They had all been roused from sleep without any warning, and nobody had taken the time to don armor. Some were wearing tunics like Brianna. Duncan was ostensibly occupied with more important things than to worry about the rather dirty shirt covering him. Qara tried her best to carry herself with dignity in her delicate silken nightgown, and Bishop looked like he could not have cared less about wearing breeches and little else. Brianna desperately tried to avoid looking at Grobnar, who was clad in only a pair of white underpants.

There was another individual she could have done without seeing mostly in the nude, but when she turned in place and glanced at the entire room, she could not make him out.

"Where's Khelgar?" she asked. "And while we're at it, what the bloody hells just happened?"

There was a rush as someone spotted the dwarf beneath a broken table. Casavir and Duncan hurried to lift the debris, and Elanee knelt, magic at the ready.

A funny sort of feeling spread in Brianna's gut as she looked down at the unconscious dwarf. As long as she had knows him, Khelgar had never, ever gone down in a fight. He was the pillar, the one who kept on bashing skulls long after everyone else was too exhausted to fight on. He had had her back from the moment she had met him, always eager to stand in between Brianna and those coming at her.

Seeing him like this, unmoving, helpless, was like a punch in the gut.

"Everyone else alright?" Duncan asked, and spun around to check on the rest of the room. "Seems like everyone's here, 'cept for the two sailors in the room next to…" he choked on his next word, and Brianna, feeling suddenly more stupid than she had in her entire life, kicked herself mentally for not thinking of the reason for the entire attack earlier.

"Shandra," she chorused with several other people.

Casavir bolted out of the taproom. For a long minute, everyone waited. Silence lay over the room, broken only by Elanee's muttered incantations.

When the paladin returned, he was white as a sheet.

"She has been taken," he said tonelessly.

Brianna wanted to sink down to her knees and cry.

_This just keeps getting better. Now what in the hells am I going to do? Might as well sit down and wait to be killed, with my only lead dragged off to who-knows-where._

"We need to find her." Casavir's aura was more powerful at this moment than Brianna had ever felt it, the wave of comfort and strength reached her almost halfway across the room. "We promised to protect her."

"They're not likely to kill her now that they went through all this trouble," Neeshka pointed out. "They're likely looking for information out of her."

"Torture." Casavir looked revolted, and he barely managed to bring the word across his lips. "I will not allow it to happen. We need to find her."

Brianna silently agreed, though part of her did wonder whether the githyanki were likely to be more successful torturing the woman than she had been asking gentle questions and giving Shandra a pat on the head after she had claimed not to know anything. She was smart enough not to say this out loud, but part of her was hoping that for once, the githyanki would do the work for her instead of the other way round.

But they still needed to find Shandra, and those who had taken her. And at the moment, she hadn't a damned clue how to accomplish that.

"We haven't got a clue where they went off to," she pointed out the obvious.

"We will need to find out, then," Casavir said, which Brianna found to be the least productive thing she had heard in the last hour, so she glared at the paladin.

"Then I welcome any ideas as to how we'd accomplish that, because in case you hadn't noticed, we don't have an able tracker handy to follow in the githyanki's path."

"Yeah," said Duncan in a rather odd tone, causing her to turn and look at him. "You do."

For a moment she thought he was talking about himself, before she realized that her uncle was staring straight past her. She refused to look in that same direction, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach.

But she did not need to look, only to hear the reply that was, by now, eerily familiar to her.

"Not my problem."

She did turn then, to stare at Bishop, who was leaning against the wall behind her and nonchalantly cleaning his sword with a dishrag. He shot Duncan a dark look.

"Don't care a whit for that farm girl of yours, and I'm certainly not about to risk my hide for her. But since you asked so nicely, I'll even give you a little hint."

He laid his sword aside, onto a chair, and crouched next to the feet of a githyanki corpse. For several seconds he just looked, but finally his hand reached out and plucked a tiny splinter from the creature's boot. Brianna watched, fascinated against her will, as he sniffed the small piece of wood cautiously.

"Duskwood," he said then, straightening up, and flicked the splinter at her. "Deep in Luskan territory. That's as much as you'll get from me, so don't push your luck."

The bit of wood bounced off Brianna's tunic and fell to the ground spinning. She suppressed the reflex to catch it, because she was not sure she could have managed to do so just now. And she definitely did not need Bishop taunting her for her clumsiness on top of everything else.

"So, what do we do?" Neeshka asked, breaking the silence. "We probably shouldn't just go wandering off at random."

"Just leave her, who cares about some woman stupid enough to get herself dragged away by some ugly greenlings. You haven't got any real options anyway." Qara had sunk onto one of the few intact chairs and was looking just as pouty as usual, with that air of thinly veiled disgust she often seemed to have.

"No, he'll do it." Duncan was still glaring at Bishop. "Whether he likes it or not."

Brianna was surprised by her uncle's persistence. He was, after all, the one who had warned her about Bishop in the first place, and Brianna had seem enough of the man to believe that the warning had come for good reason. Either Duncan was braver and more stupid than she had thought, or there was something more going on than she could discern.

She decided that it had to be the latter, because Bishop, after several seconds of glaring back at Duncan, gave a short nod.

"Is this it, then?" he asked, low and dangerous. "Is this really what you'd waste your debt on?"

"If that is what it takes to move you to help someone for once in your twisted life, then yes, it is." Duncan stood firm, and matched the look Bishop was giving him bit for bit. "You'll guide them up north and back."

Brianna was desperate to interrupt, to tell them both firmly and with finality that there was no was in the nine hells that she would accept the help of Bishop, of all people. But her vocal cords would not obey her, nor did anyone else seem to care what she thought of the matter, and finally Bishop turned with a shrug and picked up his sword once more.

"Fine," he said, and glanced around the room. "We're headed for the Luskan border then. Pack your things and grab your weapons, and do it _fast_."

With that, he pushed himself off the wall and vanished towards his room.

It was the point when Brianna could no longer keep her body from shaking. It was when she truly realized that they were headed for trouble once more, that despite having gotten no sleep at all, she would be on her feet for all of the next day and then some. And she would do all that while being around someone she had no desire to touch with a ten foot pole.

"You lot have fun then," Qara announced, smirking. "I'm going to bed."

"You're coming with." Brianna surprised herself with how strong her voice sounded, after everything. "I need your firepower, especially with Khelgar out of it."

The dwarf was still laying on the ground, with Elanee fussing over him. He had not woken.

"I am not certain what happened to him," Elanee admitted. "It might have been a spell that hit him, I cannot be sure."

"Sand might know," Duncan proposed. "But even if we fetch him right now, there isn't any way the dwarf will be ready to come along any time soon."

The fact that Khelgar would have to stay behind did not bode well for their mission. Brianna rubbed her eyes, nodding.

"I would stay here and provide what healing I can," Elanee said. It suited Brianna just fine.

"Can I come?" Grobnar, who had been busy scribbling notes onto his palm, asked excitedly. Brianna shook her head at the gnome.

"You wouldn't be able to keep pace, sorry. Now everyone else, get going and get packed. We need to hurry."

As the taproom emptied, Brianna walked up to Duncan, who was slumped against the bar.

"How much trouble did you just get me in?" she demanded to know.

"Bishop owes me a debt." Duncan sounded more tired than Brianna had ever heard him before. "He'll be good for it."

"And you are absolutely and utterly positive of that?"

Duncan sighed, and looked up at her. "Of this one thing I'm fairly certain, yes. But his loyalties are questionable, if he's got any at all. Watch yourself. If you run into problems, gold might sway him, but I can't guarantee it."

"I'll keep that in mind." Brianna turned away, about to return to her own room to pack her things, but she turned back to her uncle when she remembered one last important question.

"What's this debt all about, anyway?"

Duncan only shook his head.

"Typical," she said and threw her hands up in exasperation before walking away.


	36. Lessons Learned

**Lessons Learned**

They left the Flagon in the early hours of the morning, with nothing but the moon witnessing their departure, and soon after passed through Neverwinter's northwestern gate on their way to the wilderness beyond.

Bishop led them, never uttering a single word to anyone, but setting a fast pace. It soon became clear to Brianna that Duncan had not exaggerated when he had told her that as much of a bloody bastard as he was, the man was good at what he did. They never backtracked, and very rarely did they have to stop for Bishop to pick up the githyanki trail once again. It was the only positive thing about this entirely messed up situation.

In her attempt to put as much distance between Bishop and herself as possible without making that fact obvious, Brianna ended up walking next to Casavir. The paladin's aura was for once a welcome presence. She was certain that without the warm, soothing feeling of courage enveloping her, she already would have lost her mind and executed a senseless attack against either the shrubbery or one of her traveling companions. She had reached the end of her rope, and she knew it.

Only the evening before she had thought that nothing in her life had been going according to plan for some time now. Every time she accomplished anything, circumstances beyond her control set her back twice as far as she had fought to come. Every time she struggled to free herself of the machinations surrounding the shards, she was sucked even deeper into the pit, and she had reached the point of no longer being able to see the light.

She had tried to stay away from danger, but she had accomplished little in that regard. No matter how hard she worked to keep out of the line of fire, she just ended up being shot at from a new direction. And she had finally gotten to the point where she had to admit to herself that the way she had been approaching the obstacles thrown in her path would not work for much longer.

So many times she had escaped death now, sometimes through cleverness, sometimes because another had saved her. Several times she had survived because she had been plain lucky. And she hated that feeling of owing someone else, being dependent on those around her to make her problems their own. And just like she had hated herself for such a long time before, back in West Harbor, she hated herself now for not being strong enough to take control.

"May I ask you a question?" Casavir interrupted her thoughts in his usual polite manner. She did not actually mind being distracted from her wallowing, so she gave him an encouraging nod.

"This man, Bishop." He spoke the name with with more disdain than she had ever heard him say any word before. "How much do you know about him?"

She shrugged, mostly to buy herself a moment to consider her reply.

"Not much beyond what Duncan told me," she told him eventually, throwing their guide a look to make sure he could not overhear them. Bishop was passing through the trees far ahead, certainly within shouting distance, but not close enough to listen in on them.

"I do not trust him," Casavir said darkly.

"Neither do I," she admitted freely. "But my uncle said he would guide us, and I'm certain… well, I hope that Duncan knows what he's doing."

"You do not look convinced."

She shrugged again. There was no way she would get into the bit of history she had with Bishop for the paladin's benefit. Doing so would have opened up avenues of questioning that she did not want Casavir to take, and torn open barely-healed wounds in the process. She had enough to deal with at the moment without inviting emotional turmoil.

"I am just nervous about what lies ahead," she finally stated, carefully neutral.

"As am I," he admitted. "Though I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter."

"My thoughts? Are you sure about that?" She forced out a dry laugh and rolled her eyes at him. "Gods Casavir, I don't even know what the hells I should think. I struggle to find something that is not going wrong in my life. Everything seems to fall to pieces around me as soon as I get involved with it. It is so bloody frustrating, and I don't know what to do. I just don't. I don't know how we'll free Shandra once we find her, and I don't know what to do even if we do manage it. I certainly don't know what to do if we don't. I don't seem to know much of anything these days, come to think of it."

She halted in her rant to wipe her face with the back of her hand and glance at Casavir. He seemed deeply in thought about what she had just said.

"Wait a second." She eyed him, suddenly suspicious as it occurred to her to wonder about his motives. "Was this a roundabout way of asking me what is bothering me?"

"Yes," he admitted freely, which, coming from him, was enough to make her laugh with surprise and disbelief. "Back at Old Owl Well, when I asked you directly, the question upset you."

"Well, yes," she agreed a bit reluctantly. "You're learning."

Casavir apparently chose to take this as a compliment and gave her a rare smile. His face went through a fascinating transformation when he smiled, erasing all the stress, all the worries that usually showed on it for mere seconds. Brianna looked on, baffled.

"I admire how you deal with the pressure," he said then. "You have a lot on your shoulders, and more keeps piling on every day, yet you find the strength to forge ahead."

"Only because I haven't got a choice."

She was not quite sure why she wasted her time trying to talk Casavir out of his delusions about her. In the long run she would likely benefit from him thinking of her as half a saint and a quarter hero. But that also meant she had to make an effort to keep up this image or risk disappointing him rather quickly. And she just hadn't the strength or the patience left for that.

"Look, it's simple." She stared straight ahead, focusing on the path that wasn't really one, trying not to stumble over any branches. "I've never been the kind of person others like to follow, and trust with their lives, and all of that. I like being alone, and I like not having to worry about anyone except me. I'm not any good at this, damn it."

She had expected him to show at least some amount of surprise at her admission, but he did not. Instead, he lightly laid his hand to rest on her shoulder, his face stoic. She felt flooded with some feeling of confidence that was not her own and shook it off, disconcerted. He was trying to be kind, she knew that, but she still couldn't get over the feeling of being manipulated every time the aura took hold of her.

"When I was younger, and studying under the priests of Tyr, my mentor and I once had a long talk about leadership," the paladin began. "Back then, I had many doubts as well and wondered whether I would ever be fit to lead men into battle. My father was a formidable man, an accomplished leader who saw many battles and won them all, and I could not quite see myself able to follow his example. I doubted my own abilities. My mentor, himself a seasoned paladin, told me something I would like to pass on to you."

Brianna grit her teeth and tried to look interested. As much as Casavir was trying to identify himself with her situation, she doubted he had truly ever even approached the level of incompetence she kept displaying. But still, she looked at him expectantly.

"He told me that there are those born to be leaders. Those men and women the commonfolk flock to, whom the soldiers want to follow even into certain death. But that kind of aptitude is rarer that most think."

She considered this for a moment. None of her companions qualified for this kind of follower, she was certain of that. Neeshka would draw the line of friendship long before dying for anything. Khelgar would consider it a waste and follow her grumbling, trying to convince himself that he could beat whatever insurmountable odds she might be up against with his axe. Qara would probably take a moment to laugh hysterically before taking off. Elanee, she guessed, would do nothing but lecture her the entire way. Bishop would make a rude gesture before leaving her to her fate. Casavir as the only one she could imagine following her into certain death, but not because she was leading, but because she was fighting for something he believed in.

"So what else is there?" she asked.

"Learning," he replied simply.

"Learning to lead?" She frowned. "How in the hells would one learn that? If someone told me what to do, that wouldn't be leading then, would it?"

He gave her another small smile, which she felt inexplicably compelled to return.

"You are learning even as we speak. Whether you realize it or not, the circumstances you were forced into act as your teacher." His hand slipped off her shoulder, gently, as though he was reluctant to let go.

Brianna felt absurdly thrown back to her very earliest memories at West Harbor. Back then, Daeghun had still tried to teach her instead of simply leaving her to her own devices. He had been full of sage advice as well. She had never quite bought into most of it, but she had enjoyed trying to figure out what he was really telling her.

Casavir's thoughts were not the most profound, but she had to admit they had merit. There were not many useful natural talents in her repertoire, but she had always been quite quick about picking up what was taught to her. Cormick's teachings of the blade were a good example of that. She was no brilliant fighter by nature, but dedicated training and practice were slowly elevating her to a level where she could hold her own. Surely it would be possible for her to learn other things as well, provided she put her mind to it.

"Thank you," she said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. Considering how little she had thought to have in common with the holy warrior, his advice was unexpected. Flustered, she adjusted her hair.

The corners of Casavir's mouth were still turned up, as though he was smiling about some secret she was not privy to.

"You are most welcome," he told her. "I would not have said to if I had not already witnessed the potential within you."

She froze, her hands in the process of taming her locks. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"The tiefling, Neeshka. She draws much of her strength from following you."

As she re-tied the ribbon that tamed her hair, she frowned at him. She hadn't got a clue how her tiefling friend had just been drafted into the conversation.

"Neeshka has got her own strength," she said out loud.

"She is not one of excessive loyalty," Casavir replied. "Nor morals. She has thought about leaving many times ever since the mountains, but she has not. Every time she wavers, she seeks you out."

Brianna stared at him. Granted, she had wondered to herself recently what Neeshka's reasons might be for her to continue to stay with them, even though they were skirting death more often than not these days. She just hadn't expected Casavir to be the one offering insight on the matter.

"How in the hells do you know that?"

The paladin's mouth pulled up into a half smile yet again. "I am perceptive to her aura in the same sort of way she is to mine."

"She said it itches her."

He nodded. "I am afraid there is little I can do to ease her discomfort. Her demonic blood does not react well to powers connected to the upper planes."

"So she feels the same way to you? It itches?"

"No." he replied. "I feel in her the dread and corruption of the lower planes. Not much of it, just a touch, but enough for me to be aware of it at all times. It is…" He paused for a moment, looking slightly reluctant, before he spoke on. "It feels like one might looking like a ripe fruit riddled with decay."

"That's my friend you're talking about here," Brianna reminded him mildly.

"I know." Casavir did not apologize. Even though she felt protective enough of Neeshka to object the comparison of the tiefling to a rotten apple, Brianna considered this a step in the right direction, coming from the paladin. "I will not hold her heritage against her, but neither will I discount it. I feel her waver, feel the conflict she has within herself. Yet when she is near you, that conflict stills and her resolve strengthens."

Brianna was silent for a moment as she digested this information.

"Is she aware that you are privy to her emotions like that?"

Before Casavir could answer, twigs snapped in the undergrowth to their right.

Brianna wasted no time in reaching for her crossbow, nocking a bolt and cocking the weapon, waiting for a gith or whatever else was about to burst out of the thicket and attack them. Casavir, lacking a ranged weapon, held his hammer at the ready. Together, they eyed the ripple of movement through the twigs as something approached them fast.

It was a wolf. Large, grey and vicious-looking, the animal exited the thicket slowly and approached them as a hunter might its helpless prey. Brianna's hand went for the trigger. It would have been stupid to take risks when it came to wild forest animals.

Nobody appeared to have told Bishop this, however. Brianna hadn't got a clue how he had managed to cross the distance between them so quickly, but she couldn't be bothered to consider the matter when the tip of an arrow was pressing painfully into the skin of her throat, just below her jaw.

"You fire that bolt and I'll make sure you regret it," he threatened her. The wolf snarled, as though underlining the words.

His voice carried that familiar dangerous edge that caused her to suppress a shiver as she stood frozen. Her mind was busy trying to figure out what in the hells was happening, while she stared straight ahead into the yellow eyes of the wolf. Eyes that were unsettling and eerily familiar.

She'd seen those eyes before.

They were Bishop's eyes.

_Son of a bitch. _

She lowered her crossbow slowly. The pressure of the arrow tip against her throat eased slightly.

"That thing's _yours_?" she croaked disbelievingly.

"Not mine, swamp girl, but I still value his life more highly than yours."

"That's nice." Brianna searched her mind for a comeback that wouldn't piss Bishop off too much. "I'd still like to not get mauled."

"Well since you mentioned it, not pointing your weapon at him might just help your case."

She finally managed to take her eyes off the wolf and look over at Bishop, who was returning the arrow to his quiver. His body language suggested that he hadn't a care in the world, but still wouldn't hesitate to set the damn wolf on her if he thought he could get away with it.

_This isn't good at all. _

Her heart was pounding. The gods knew she had been intimidated by him from the start, and how couldn't she have been, with him acting as much of a predator as the wolf. It had led to her allowing him to dictate the terms of engagement, so to speak. If she wasn't careful, he would soon be walking all over her.

"Then warn me next time."

It didn't come out as strong as she'd hoped, and she mentally kicked herself when he smirked condescendingly.

"Or what, swamp vixen?" he drawled. "You'll tell on me? I'm sure your uncle would love to know, along with a few other things that have been kept from him."

The blood rushed to her head.

_He wouldn't. That gods-damned bastard, he wouldn't…_

But she knew well enough that he would, and in fact would likely enjoy it, too.

She tried for a reply, searched her mind desperately, but she felt frozen solid.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

"Enough." Casavir's voice cut through the silence. "Your job was to lead us north after the githyanki, ranger, so do what you are here to do and leave her alone."

"Oh, but the doggy can bark," Bishop taunted promptly. "Tell me vixen, does he come to heel, too?"

Brianna looked on as Casavir drew himself up to his full height, which was impressive, and it finally dawned on her that forcing these two, diametrically opposed as they were, to interact might just light the fuse on a metaphorical keg full of blastglobes.

_By the pits of the abyss, how did I not see this coming?_

Luckily, Casavir had the presence of mind not to let himself be drawn in by the ranger's taunts.

"Believe what you wish," he told Bishop curtly and turned to Brianna. "My lady, we are losing time. With your permission, we should get moving again."

_My lady,_ of course, was a dead giveaway that he had entered full-on gentlemanly protector mode.

"But that's not her choice, is it? It's mine, paladin." Bishop crossed his arms before his chest. The wolf had trotted to his side and was looking up at him, panting.

"Just get going, Bishop." Brianna's patience was wearing thin, and that finally helped her find her voice. "If Shandra's dead because of your dawdling, Duncan _will _know, no matter how you try to threaten me."

She saw the flash of annoyance in his eyes before he turned and, without another word, picked his way through the trees once more. The wolf followed on his heels. Brianna fought a sudden urge to bury her face in her hands.

_Merciful Morninglord, how much worse could I possibly fuck up?_

"I apologize for interfering," Casavir muttered as soon as Bishop was out of earshot. "I would not have done so if not for…"

"I know," she cut him off, not willing to think about what had just happened for a single second longer, and even less willing to think about her dwindling competence. She threw a glance in the direction of Qara and Neeshka who were both standing several feet away, looking wary and reluctant to get mixed up in the mess. "Let's just go."

* * *

During her training with Cormick she had learned to push through her exhaustion and keep her body moving through the pain, and most importantly to keep her mouth shut while she struggled along. It was a skill that found its use as they left Neverwinter territory behind and crossed into that of Luskan.

Bishop kept them moving fast all throughout the day, without regard for how tired or sore any of them might be. Since this was just what she had asked him to do, she wisely declined to comment and focused her energy on keeping up. Casavir, of course, did not lodge any complaints either, but as the sun touched down on the horizon, Qara had obviously had enough of walking.

"We need to rest," she gasped, struggling to keep pace next to Brianna after she had hurried to catch her. "That damn ranger's going to kill us otherwise."

"You tell him that." Brianna was damned if she would address Bishop unless it was strictly necessary.

"C'mon, Bree." Neeshka had popped up on her other side. "I get that we need to hurry, but if we don't rest we won't last long in a fight."

Brianna cursed inwardly. Casavir's comments about Neeshka were still fresh in her mind, and she was reluctant to be harsh with her friend.

"Fine," she said, hating herself for feeling a pinch of fear about simply going up to Bishop and talking to him.

_Gods, but I'm a weakling. _

She got a grip on herself and hurried forward. Bishop had slowed again, body tense and eyes alert, the same he had looked all day. The wolf turned towards her and gave a short bark in her direction, but then continued bounding through the undergrowth.

"What do you want?" Bishop asked without looking at her.

"We need to set up camp." The best way to hold any conversation with the man, she figured, was to keep it as short as possible, in order to give him little chance to latch onto anything. "Qara and Neeshka are tired."

"You always do what the little goat and the tavern princess want?" His voice was dripping with disdain and she was so, so sick of hearing it.

"If we're ambushed, they won't be much good in a fight if they're dead on their feet."

He was silent for a moment, eyes narrowed at a broken branch, before he set off at an angle to their previous direction and finally answered to her request.

"Unless they changed direction drastically, which they won't have, we'll pass close by a village soon. We might find shelter for the night there."

Considering this was Bishop she was talking to, it was actually a rather civil answer. Encouraged, she decided to push her luck just a little and ask him something that had been on her mind for a while.

"They haven't bothered to hide their trail, have they?" She braced herself for a scathing look, but it did not come. He was too focused on his surroundings. "They can't have, with the speed you are tracking them at."

He did glance at her then. "So you might have a brain after all," he said. "I was wondering."

Sighing, she dropped back and walked once again next to Casavir, in silence.

The sky was darkening when they finally approached the cluster of houses bearing the name Ember. Brianna eyed the place with skepticism. She had some time ago gotten used to the bustle of Neverwinter, and this place, so different from the city, reminded her uncomfortably of West Harbor. Granted, Ember was surrounded by fields and pastures instead of swampland, but those were details. The basic feel of the place was the same, and she could picture a gaggle of girls running across these fields just like they had done back at West Harbor after the harvest festival. She could imagine Lewy Jons sitting on one of the fences trying to count his pigs and failing for the fifth time in a row. She could…

She stopped dead.

"Bishop," she started, but the ranger had frozen in his tracks as well.

"Something's wrong." He was scanning the houses before them rapidly. "I don't see any villagers."

"I know. No animals about, either," Brianna added her own observation. Even if the people of Ember were all sitting down for dinner in their houses at this very moment, there should have been cows or pigs on the pastures. A small town such as this wouldn't have a chance to survive without.

For a second she met Bishop's eyes as he turned his head towards her. She might have imagined the glimmer of surprise she saw there.

"You _do_ have a brain," he ascertained.

Finding herself actually able to think around him for a change, she lifted her hands and spread her fingers wide in an impression of Amie doing her magic tricks for the children of West Harbor.

"Ta-daa."

He furrowed his brow and turned away from her to regard the village in the distance once more.

"It's a trap," he said bluntly. "I'm sure of it."

"Can we circumvent the place? Just get back to where we left the trail and make camp elsewhere?"

"No." He frowned, still looking at the cluster of houses. "We never left the trail. It goes through this place. If we try to find another way, it'll take me some time to pick it back up. Besides," he added, glancing down at her, "would you really rather have whatever's in store for us here at our backs?"

He made a couple of damn good points, blast him.

"Right," she said, and turned towards Qara and Neeshka, who had sat down in the middle of the path, looking tired, and Casavir, who stood stoically nearby. "We are about to head straight into an ambush. Not like we didn't know we'd be bashing some githyanki skulls, only this is sooner, rather than later. I need you to be prepared."

The face Qara made at her was not one fit for the public.

"You are _so_ going to get us all killed," the sorceress whined, dusting off her rear end. Brianna meanwhile, was thinking tactics.

"Did they ever teach you how to shield yourself from missiles at that horrible evil academy you ran from?" she asked Qara. "Because this would probably be a really good time to recall that spell."

Qara scrunched up her face as she tried to focus. Brianna turned to the others as she was readying her crossbow.

"Casavir, you'll have to draw their attention. Protect yourself with whatever holy magic you have available. Neeshka, do what you do best. Just make sure they don't see you coming. Choking powder might be helpful, too. Use the fact that they'll be going for Casavir."

They both nodded. The paladin drew his hammer and held his shield at the ready, and Brianna turned to Bishop.

She was not stupid enough to try and give him instructions regarding the upcoming fight, but only nodded towards his weapons.

"Which one of these are you going to be using, ranger?"

"All," he replied curtly.

"And what about him? Is he going to fight, or will he stay out of it?" She was careful not to point her loaded crossbow at the wolf again.

There was a short pause, during which the wolf sat down lazily on his hind paws and looked up at Bishop, as though considering the question. It made her wonder how much of the situation the beast actually understood.

"He'll fight," the ranger announced eventually.

Qara, at this exact moment, shouted something, which was followed by a sound like very thin glass breaking. A near-invisible sphere that looked like air made solid surrounded her.

"Ah," she said. "I think it worked."

"Brilliant. Well then." Brianna turned towards the cluster of houses. "Move in slow and don't get loud until we know they've spotted us. Qara, you'll need to keep an eye on where you're needed most. If Casavir is in trouble, help him out with some of those flaming arrows you can conjure."

"As you command, oh great Lieutenant."

The challenge in the sorceress' voice made Brianna grit her teeth. Now that Bishop had questioned her authority rather successfully, Qara was getting mouthy again too.

"Shut the fuck up," she told the girl.

Keeping her crossbow raised and ready, she approached Ember.

* * *

Brianna found out some very interesting things during the next several minutes.

First of all, they had been dead right about the ambush. Projectiles started flying at them as soon as they had reached the first houses, and the githyanki hurried to close the circle behind them and attack from all directions. It was rather messy, but they were prepared and organized, and it could have been far worse. Qara's arrow protection spell worked, and Brianna took cover behind the paladin with his heavy shield while arrows and bullets rained down on them.

Second, Casavir was very good at yelling loudly, attacking in the most flashy manner possible and just generally making a complete scene for the purpose of drawing attention away from his companions. Neeshka used that fact rather well, and if Brianna had had any breath left, she might have laughed at the sight of the paladin and the tiefling, of all people, making such a good team.

Third, Bishop was a bloody brilliant shot. Brianna knew she was decent with her crossbow, but Bishop loosened arrows with speed and accuracy that rivaled none, except perhaps Daeghun Farlong of West Harbor. When she had found and targeted her first gith, he had already taken out two of them with his first two arrows. It was impressive, and more than a bit scary for her to fully realize that he truly was as dangerous as Duncan had told her.

Fourth, Bishop's wolf had been trained, or at least had plenty of experience in doing battle with humanoids. The grey bundle of fur flanked enemies and sank its teeth into thighs or calves wherever it could find an opening. Once Brianna had switched to her sword, she finished several opponents who had been crippled by injuries stemming from the wolf's teeth.

Fifth, Qara appeared to be smart enough to realize that she had better follow instructions in a crunch, because if she did not and the rest of the team died on the battlefield, she was not likely to make it out alive either. The sorceress did as Brianna had told her and focused her magic on the githyanki surrounding Casavir whenever things got tight for the paladin. as soon as Casavir had a little more breathing space, she once again directed her focus elsewhere. It was a very effective strategy.

When it was over, and between Qara's magic, Neeshka's trickery, Casavir's mix of elegance and brute force, Bishop's skill and Brianna's Watch training they had slain every last enemy, Brianna was preoccupied with distributing healing potions and the question of how exactly this ambush could have happened.

"There aren't any human bodies," she realized, looking around the green. "And there was no sign of any struggle before we showed up. What did they do to all those villagers?"

"Why does that… ow!" Qara slapped the ground with one hand. "It _hurts_!"

"Arrow wounds do that," Brianna agreed without sympathy, and watched the girl, who had gone rather pale, clutch Casavir's arm.

"Make it stop!" Qara whined. Casavir, who had been attempting to pull the arrow out of the girl's calf, extracted himself from Qara's grip and tried again.

Leaning against what appeared to be the village well, Bishop looked disgusted.

"You'd better tell the holy warrior to get a move on," he addressed Brianna as though Casavir could not hear him. "Or didn't it occurred to you yet that the rest of the greenlings will be moving faster, now that their numbers are fewer? And since they don't have the men to stage another ambush, they won't be leaving such an obvious trail from now on either."

He was right, of course. She didn't have to like it, but she acknowledged him with a nod and took another sip of healing potion before offering him the bottle. He looked at it as though it was poison, but eventually took it and drained it anyway.

Qara let loose yet another shriek that pierced the silence, followed by Casavir's triumphant brandishing of half a bloodied arrow.

"Potion," the paladin ordered, and Brianna pulled a fresh bottle from her pack and tossed it to Qara. The girl was sobbing loudly and in the most annoying manner possible, with Casavir awkwardly patting her back.

"Heads up," Bishop warned.

Brianna turned the same way he was looking and spotted Neeshka immediately. She had not been able to stop the tiefling from having a thorough look about the village, and Neeshka had promised not to get herself into trouble. But she was not alone. Another woman was following reluctantly, being dragged along by the tiefling more than she walked on her own.

"Maybe that's one of the illustrious missing villagers," Brianna speculated.

It was indeed. The young woman following behind Neeshka looked at them warily, but with a wide-eyed innocence that made Brianna think she'd likely never left the village of Ember. The woman's blond hair, which had once, by the looks of it, been tamed by strict braids down the sides of her head, had by now mostly escaped its confines. She wore heavy skirts that caused a painful twinge within Brianna as she remembered Amie, who had often worn the same kind of skirts, notably during the West Harbor Harvest Fair and its aftermath.

"Hello," the woman called out as she approached. Neeshka finally let go of her charge and plopped down next to Brianna.

"Found her lurking near the edge of the forest, just there." The tiefling pointed.

_Well that's convenient._

Brianna gave Neeshka a smile of approval. "Then maybe she can shed some light on the circumstances of this ambush, hm?"

"My name is Alaine." The villager in question appeared to have some objection to being referred to solely as 'she'. "Please, this is important – are you hunting a woman named Shandra?"

_And just like that, things get interesting again_, Brianna mused as she crossed her arms before her chest and regarded the woman.

"I suppose I could argue that technically, we are hunting those who took her, but no matter." She studied Alaine's face carefully. "What do you know?"

"I know Shandra from the merchant run she makes through Ember every year," Alaine explained. "Though she did not come this year, and I am not certain why."

Brianna put her hands behind her back as not to make it obvious that she was clenching them into fists.

"Look, we're tired and bruised and we _really_ need to rest, so I would appreciate it if you could hurry it up, Alaine. Get to the important bit."

"I saw her," Alaine admitted. "They dragged her through Ember, and she was kicking and screaming for help, it was dreadful." Her eyes were theatrically wide. "Please, you have to help her."

"We are already doing that," Brianna pointed out. "Though we would do much better if you actually told us anything that might be of use."

"Right, yes, of course," the woman stuttered right through the disapproving glance Casavir threw in Brianna's direction. "Er, there were only seven or eight of the creatures with her, the rest all stayed here… to… to wait for you all, I suppose. I don't know much more, they made me leave. I only came back to see if it was safe yet."

_Not so interesting after all, then. _

Brianna was not about to waste her energy on Alaine. She could tell them nothing new, and it was late and they needed shelter. Before she could dismiss the woman, however, Bishop's voice cut through the air, scathing as ever.

"So tell me, are you one of these heroic folks of Ember, then?"

Alaine turned to look at Bishop, obviously taken aback by his hostile tone.

"I… I don't know what you…"

"The villagers, girl. Are you one of them? Because I reckon when the githyanki showed up, you all just followed their orders like good little flock of sheep."

To Alaine's credit, she did try. She narrowed her eyes at the ranger and pretended not to be intimidated, though she didn't fare very well. Her hands were trembling.

"You weren't here when they stormed the village. They were stronger than us, it would have meant our deaths to resist! We didn't just run, we tried to negotiate. But in the end, we did the only thing that made sense and did as they said."

"Yeah, real brave, you lot are." Bishop's expression darkened, and Brianna braced herself for what she knew was coming. "If you ask me, we should torch the place. Anyone who gives up their home this easily doesn't deserve to keep it."

"Be silent, Bishop!"

Casavir had stepped up close to the other man, as though suspecting Bishop might start the torching right there and then.

"These villagers are not trained to fight like we are, and they were caught unaware. Under these circumstances…"

Bishop stepped forward as well, and just like that, the two were in each other's faces.

"So? If you aren't willing to kill for it, how important can it be, paladin? Tell me that."

Brianna could basically _hear _Casavir grinding his teeth.

"Killing is not always a testament to what one believes in," the paladin squeezed out. "Now leave her alone, ranger."

Bishop was opening his mouth once more when Brianna took a step forward. If she had thought about it, she might not have found the nerve to step in to end this argument, but they could ill afford to delay any further.

"That's enough, from the both of you," she announced.

Casavir pressed his lips together. Bishop's eyebrows shot up almost comically as his head turned towards her.

"Alaine, or whatever your name was, just… go back to wherever you came from, or do what you will. I don't really care. Qara, get up already, I know you're good to go. Your leg is fine, that wound healed up a while ago. I saw it. Bishop, _please_ find us a place to make camp, sooner rather than later so we can rest. That's it, thank you, get moving everyone."

She was glad to see the situation diffuse without her having to take a stand, though she was not certain Bishop would be willing to let the incident go. It was entirely possible he would make her pay for it later.

Things had been bad enough even before the realization had hit her that she basically shared Bishop's opinion on the villagers. As nauseous as agreeing with the ranger on anything made her feel, there was no denying that she had precious little respect for the villagers of Ember. It was like Highcliff all over again, people who were utterly unable to take up arms for themselves. And Brianna always cleaning up the mess and suffering from the consequences.

"And Casavir," she added, hurrying to walk next to the Paladin as they left. "You need to stop letting Bishop bait you."

He glanced at her. "You heard what he said."

"Yes," she said, impatient because he wasn't getting it. "And I saw his face while he said it, too. He was saying that specifically because he wanted to piss you off."

_And me, possibly. He's trying to get a feel for the group he is traveling with_, she realized suddenly. _That means he's looking for ways to manipulate us._ _Lovely. And I'm even agreeing with the bastard on some matters. _

The thought made her feel filthy. She tried to will down the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she followed the rest of the group back into the woods. It wouldn't do to get upset about whatever Bishop did, on top of everything else. All she had to do was to maintain relative peace until they had found Shandra. After that, Casavir and Bishop could feel free to start whatever slugfest they desired. She would simply stick to Neeshka and avoid the unpleasantness that was their guide.

_If you find Shandra alive and well_, a little voice inside her head reminded her. _And remember, things never work out the way you want them to. What makes you think that they're going to start to now?_


	37. Child's Play

**Child's Play**

The night was freezing cold, and suitably awkward. Brianna had spent half of her watch already trying to shake herself out of her gloom and doom state of mind, but it proved to be difficult. For one, considering her situation and the series of events that had led her to this very spot, feeling gloomy and doomed seemed quite appropriate.

Also, Bishop didn't have the decency to go to sleep already and leave her to her thoughts. Since she knew by now that the ranger had very little decency in general, she should not have let it rattle her. But she was even wary of wrapping her arms about herself to keep away the cold for fear that he would mock her and call her weak.

As soon as she had realized that, her thoughts had turned to wondering why it even mattered what he thought of her. She had been looked down upon and called names before, plenty of times back in West Harbor and occasionally since then, and life had taught her over time to grow a thick skin when it came to such things. So how in the hells did his barbs manage to hurt her despite that?

_Because I am scared of him_, she reluctantly answered her own silent question.

At first, she had thought that her flight reflexes kicked in around him for the same reason she had always ran from Wyl – because she knew he meant her harm. She had since realized that it was not quite so simple.

He was not like Wyl, at least on the surface. She was reasonably certain that, if the ranger had been one to take a woman by force, she would have seen signs of it by now. Not to mention that Duncan certainly would have warned her if that was the danger Bishop posed. Her uncle was not the most reliable person, but Brianna very much doubted he would have merrily sent Bishop along with three women to rescue a fourth and only the paladin as a chaperon, had her uncle known such things about the man.

She raised her eyes to regard Bishop. He was sitting across from her, the fire between them casting deep shadows onto his face. There was some piece of clothing in his lap and he was mending it with quick, but meticulous movements, keeping his eyes on his work all the while. The wolf was stretched out next to the ranger, warming his pelt and seemingly dozing.

No, the problem was a different one. Bishop was callous, abrasive and lacked any kind of respect for those around him, many of the same qualities which she had also come to find in Qara. The difference was, however, that Qara was too young and inexperienced to be truly dangerous. Brianna had never asked the other girl how old she was, but she would have been very surprised if Qara's age surpassed her own.

Certainly the sorceress commanded enough raw power that it made Brianna nervous to think about it. But Qara had not yet learned how to truly use that power, and the threat of it, to her advantage, and Brianna hoped she never would. The sorceress had grown up sheltered, had not been outside of the strictly regulated environment of the Neverwinter Academy for long and was still figuring out how the world out there worked. Brianna had spent no more time in the docks district of Neverwinter than Qara, but her advantage had been common sense and the help of friends, both of which Qara lacked entirely. So she had been able to keep her head above the water where the other girl was still too afraid of drowning to dip even a toe in.

Bishop, on the other hand, knew how to swim. She would not have been surprised to find out that he had come close to drowning in the metaphorical rough waves a few times throughout his lifetime, in addition to dunking the heads of others beneath the waves when it suited him.

_A smuggler_, Duncan had explained the first time she had asked him about Bishop. _Mostly up around the Luskan border._ And she would have bet her newly learned swordsman skills that he hadn't just woken up one morning and thought smuggling seemed a good business to try his hand at.

She looked across the fire again, and her eyes found the edges of the thick, twisted welts running along the side of his neck like roots growing rampant beneath his skin. She had first noticed them during the attack on the Flagon, though back then, she had been too preoccupied to think about them. The mass of ugly, uneven scar tissue, its colors ranging from silver to a sickly shade of purple, covered most of the right side of Bishop's torso, as well as his arm. Of course most of it was not visible now, with him properly clothed. Brianna knew enough to identify them as burn scars. Acid, possibly, but more likely the ranger had been caught in a fire at some point during his past, and been viciously burned. Recovering from that kind of injury had to have been hell.

On top of everything else, he wouldn't have learned that deadly accuracy with a bow just anywhere. No, there was a history there, and she silently cursed Duncan for being so tightlipped on the subject. Without knowing what Bishop actually did and what his background was, he was impossible to predict, and that was what made him so dangerous.

"Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to stare?"

His voice lacked any overt aggression, but she still tore her eyes away from him quickly and found a spot on the dark ground to focus on.

_Blast it, he didn't even look up._

"No," she replied, managing not to sound entirely like a scared little girl. There was a small pause before she had collected herself enough to say more, to show him she wasn't intimidated. "She never got around to much of that."

He made a sound of amusement. "Obviously."

When she remained silent, he went back to mending his clothes.

_Oh, very clever, Storm, you really showed him, didn't you?_

The drawling voice in her head sounded like Wyl's. She recoiled in horror.

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

She put her hands behind her back and pushed hard against the rough, cold tree bark, feeling its ridges and groves. The edges pressed painfully into her skin, which gave her something else to focus upon than the rapidly worsening redness of her cheeks. Pain was good, at least when it could be used to distract from something she could not handle quite as well.

_Just stay calm, and for the sake of the upper planes, don't give him reason to look at you. _

She closed her eyes and focused upon the crackling of the fire and the wind rustling the treetops. It was a stupid thing to do while keeping watch, but it was cold enough for her breath to mist even with the fire nearby. She was certain that there was no possible way she would fall asleep standing while freezing miserably, even with her eyes shut.

"Died in childbirth, did she?"

Her eyes snapped back open when she realized that the question was addressed to her. _To whom else, you idiot? _her mind interjected.

"Or was she just a whore with better things to do than raise an inconvenience, I wonder."

It took her a moment to remember that he was talking about her mother. His words would have been more of an insult if she actually gave two coppers about the woman who had birthed her. But Esmerelle Storm had left the world long before her daughter might have had a chance to remember her, dying for, as Daeghun had phrased it, a greater cause.

"It was the war, actually," she found herself answering Bishop's implied question, much to her surprise.

He frowned at her across the fire, looking… interested. And not all that hostile, for once. It was a bit weird, actually, and she was not sure what to think of it. She kept her guard up though – she was not stupid enough to say a single word to Bishop without careful consideration of whether he might be able to use that information against her.

"The Neverwinter-Luskan war?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Before that. When the greycloaks faced down some shadow entity's army and my village ended up hosting the spectacle. I was told she died protecting some villagers."

Brianna knew she sounded dismissive, but it hardly mattered. She was doubtful Bishop would care, at any rate. She was not even sure she could trust Daeghun's version of the tale. For all she knew, Esmerelle Storm might have fled with the rest of them and been struck down from the back.

"You must be so proud," Bishop purred, voice dripping with sarcasm.

In that, at least, she could match him.

"Simply ecstatic," she agreed.

_Who wouldn't be proud of their mother dying an utterly pointless death, after all? If Daeghun's version holds true, she went into the fight not even considering that she had a daughter to come back to who might just possibly desire getting to know her at some point in her life._

"So what about your own mother, hm?" The feelings bubbling up inside her called for a desperate change of topic, so she went ahead with it, ignoring her fears. "Considering how obsessed you seem with whores…"

"Nice try, swamp girl," he snorted.

"Just calling it as I see it," she shrugged, still awed by her sudden bravery.

He finished up on his sewing work and neatly folded the tunic he had been working on before leaning back onto his hands and looking at her.

"Nothing wrong with a good, cheap whore, swamp girl. Nothing at all."

Somehow, she was not surprised at all that he would think so.

"Are you still talking about your mother?"

She figured there'd be hell to pay for that one. To her surprise, however, he didn't find it nearly as offensive as she had hoped, and even gave her a crooked grin.

"I did hear that the little goat used to do it for money," he remarked. "Wonder if she'd be up for a tumble."

Her insides turned to ice as she imagined the ranger giving Neeshka a hard time. "Don't you dare."

"Jealous, swamp girl?" he asked, but before she could even begin to think of a reply, the wolf scrambled to stand and growled, unmistakably alerted.

The hairs at the back of her neck stood up. She had not even registered Bishop picking up his bow, but he was holding an arrow at the ready while she still fumbled with her crossbow. Twigs snapped in the undergrowth, beyond the circle of the fire's illumination.

For several long moments, they both stood, silent and tense. Then another twig snapped.

"Not an animal, I think," the ranger stated flatly. "Bit light for a fully grown human, though."

"Show yourself, then," Brianna called into the thicket. "Else we will let loose a few arrows and bolts, and one of them is sure to hit."

More leaves rustling and twigs breaking, and then a small figure stepped timidly out of the shadow of the trees and into the circle of firelight.

It was a boy, a human one, probably no older than ten or so. Right away it was obvious to Brianna that he was far too thin for his age, his arms like twigs and his filthy clothes hanging off his small frame. Dark eyes in a pale, freckled face stared up at them.

"And here I was afraid it would be that lunatic half-pint bard you brought to the Flagon." Bishop lowered his bow, glaring. "Beat it, kid. Nothing for you here."

The boy's expression didn't change, but his head turned towards Brianna.

_Trying to play on my motherly instincts isn't going to work, boy._

"You can stop with the puppy eyes," she told him. "I'm not impressed. And no, I haven't got any food for you."

The head swiveled back towards Bishop.

"I'm not going to repeat myself," the ranger growled. The boy took a step back.

_If Casavir were awake, he would give me the dressing down of my life for chasing off a poor little boy_, Brianna thought, amused. A quick glance assured her, however, that the paladin remained fast asleep in his bedroll. As though the gods were punishing her for the insolence, her nose began to itch and she sneezed thrice in a row.

She cursed the cold and the gods both, for good measure. Something occurred to her then, and she turned back towards the boy, who had taken another step back. They were, after all, camped not far from the village.

"Did you see what happened at Ember, boy?" she called out to him.

He hesitated for a moment, the nodded.

_Might be lying, but I'll find that out quite quickly._

"Can you talk?"

Another nod. Brianna waved him closer and ignored the look of displeasure on Bishop's face.

"You do realize that he'll make off with half of your possessions?" the ranger asked.

Outwardly, she ignored him, though keeping his warning in mind. As unhelpful as the young woman, Elaine, had been, this was another chance for her to gain information about the githyanki she was after. Of course, it would be best to know who exactly she was dealing with, first.

"Are you from Ember?"

"Sort of," the boy answered. His voice was darker and deeper than Brianna had expected, and she wondered whether malnourishment made him look younger than he was.

"He's a stray," Bishop said dismissively. "Gets handouts from some of the villagers, I bet."

The boy nodded again.

It didn't look to Brianna as though Ember had done a particularly good job taking care of this boy, if that was indeed the case. His sunken cheeks spoke volumes.

But a child ending up like this was not a rare thing, and Brianna felt no surprise, nor pity. The boy should be glad someone gave him handouts every once in a while. Who else would bother to take care of a child that had lost its parents or been abandoned for one reason or another?

_You mean those that aren't taken in by grumpy elven foster fathers?_ a little voice inside her head asked.

Brianna set her jaw. _That doesn't mean I have to feel sorry for him. His lot in life isn't my fault, or my business._

She raised her eyes to look at the boy again, who was still standing there looking uncertain.

"What's your name, then?" she asked. "You _do_ have a name, don't you?"

"Marcus," he replied.

"Well, sit down already."

She pointed to a spot near the fire, where he could get warmed up a bit. As the boy inched closer, Bishop crossed his arms before his chest.

"That little rat tries to take anything of mine and he'll lose his hands."

Brianna ignored that, too, and focused on Marcus. The boy's movements as he sat were sluggish and timid, as though his body had very little strength. He hugged his knees to his chest protectively.

"I want to know what you saw at Ember," she told him. "The more you tell me, the longer you can stay. But don't try to lie. I'll know."

Marcus nodded slowly, his eyes focused on her.

"The pigs were afraid," he said. "That's how I knew. I sleep in the pigsty when it gets cold. Pigs are smart, and when I saw they were afraid, I was afraid too."

Bishop scoffed at that and busied himself with his pack. Brianna, however, continued to listen, trying to ignore her still-itching nose.

"I told Tomas. I've told him before when I saw things. He lost a cow to a wolf pack once, all mangled and torn apart poor Lindy was, so I told him about it and he guarded the cows with his dogs that evening. He believed me that time, and he gave me a whole copper, after. But he didn't believe me about the green men, the ones who look like they're sick."

Brianna mentally sorted through Marcus' confused narration. The boy was rocking back and forth as he spoke, as though trying to comfort himself. Of course, Brianna couldn't fault the boy for being distracted by the ranger, who had taken bread and hard cheese out of his pack and was probably getting a kick out of slicing them and eating them down in front of the starving child.

"So then what?" she redirected Marcus' attention. "You haven't told me anything useful, yet."

The boy hurriedly tried to rectify that.

"Tomas said I was making it up. He said I was just out for another copper. But then the green men really did come, and everyone was just as scared as I was."

Brianna leaned back against the tree again as Marcus recounted the terror everyone at Ember had felt as the Githyanki had invaded the village. As the boy talked, she felt bizarrely thrown back to sitting by the river with Amie as her own village was invaded. Much as she despised West Harbor, she could not help but feel a certain amount of pride and reassurance by the fact that her own village had not cowered in fear.

_Then again, West Harbor left me enough of a mess to sort out for them._

Only when she noticed Marcus' terrified stare did Brianna realize that she was scowling. She deliberately softened her expression, trying to coax more details from the boy.

"Where did all of the villagers go, then? And why aren't you with them?"

"They were all so scared they didn't pay me much attention," Marcus replied. "I slipped away from them all and the green men both as they were herdin' the cows. I knew I had to, an' they didn't care to see me gone. They never do." He shuffled his toes in the dirt and seemed suddenly reluctant to meet her eyes.

"As for where they went, I can't say for sure, but there's a grove further to the east I know of, an' they were all heading that way, cows and pigs and all."

"And now that you've told us all about the things we _don't_ care about, how about getting to the useful bit?" Bishop was glaring across the fire. The flickering light put deep shadows on his face, and while Brianna had gotten used to seeing that menacing look the ranger pulled off so well, Marcus looked nervous.

"What bit?" he asked in a thin voice.

Bishop dropped the cloth he'd been holding back into his pack, looking disgusted.

"How many gith went on with the farm girl? And how much time passed from their leaving to our arrival? Did you hear them say anything about why they were there, or where they were planning on going?"

Marcus, stuttering, tried to answer all of the questions at once. Brianna, meanwhile, realized that she should have been the one asking these questions, but she hadn't been thinking straight for a while now. She lowered her head and hid her face behind her thick, dark curls to keep her expression from showing. Keeping her guard up and her face neutral around the ranger was getting to be draining.

"Are you even listening?" The low, hissed question made her clench her hands into fists. "Or were you planning to keep getting us half-killed by every green-skin we encounter?"

She shook the hair from her face so she could properly glare at Bishop.

"I was listening perfectly well until you interrupted him, but thanks for checking."

"So for a change, you'll actually have a plan next time around?"

She kept glaring, though she was unsure what he was getting at. "We're still alive, aren't we?"

"And thank the gods the gith in that last ambush were mere foot soldiers, and stupid ones at that, because the way you marched into that village, anyone with half a brain and a little muscle could have killed the lot of us without much of a fuss."

The sad thing was, he had a point once again. She loathed to admit to herself that he did. They had wasted nearly half of their healing potion supply after the ambush at Ember, and she could have approached the situation much more cleverly. She knew she had the brains to formulate better plans. Her problem was that she'd been too occupied dealing with Bishop and mulling over Casavir's opinions of leadership and being just flat out worried that Shandra would die before revealing everything that Brianna so desperately needed to know.

"Don't you worry," she said, her mouth suddenly dry. "I won't get us all killed."

It was an empty phrase, and he was sure to know it.

"Now, you see, I'm not so sure about that, swamp girl. My debt to your uncle may have compelled me to come this far, but it's not enough to get myself killed over."

She shrugged and molded her face into a mask, even slightly pulling up one corner of her mouth, looking to all the world as though what the ranger said didn't affect her at all.

"Once we run into real trouble, I'll waste my time thinking about it," she replied coolly.

Bishop flung a bit of wood into the fire and reached for his bread again without a reply. She took that to mean their little talk was over, and turned back to Marcus.

The boy was staring at Bishop's hands. The ranger noticed, scowled and got to his feet without another word. Brianna nudged Marcus as Bishop walked towards the trees.

"I wouldn't keep doing that if I were you," she suggested. "I know you haven't eaten, and he's certainly rude about it, but I wouldn't put it past him to hurt you just for staring at his food."

Marcus shook his head.

"Not the food," he replied then, voice shaking, and pressed his lips together so hard they formed a thin, white line. His eyes were wide as they met hers.

She swallowed hard when she realized that she was not looking into the eyes of a young boy. These were the eyes of an old man, wise and weary and filled with the sort of pain it took most people a lifetime to truly feel.

"The knife," Marcus said suddenly, pulling her back into the present.

Brianna had just about had enough of the antics and the definite strangeness. She was beyond tired, and she had too much to worry about to put up with Marcus' odd behavior on top of it.

"You should leave," she suggested, trying to keep her tone nice. "I need to go to sleep, anyway, and you can't be here much longer."

The boy kept his head lowered. She saw the muscles of his scrawny throat move as he swallowed nervously.

"Please," he said in a thin, high voice. "May I ask for something? I…"

Brianna had had enough. She shouldn't have been surprised her charity would lead to begging, she supposed, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

"I need you gone, now," she said, climbing to her feet. Marcus scrambled.

"But… th-the knife," he stuttered, wringing his hands nervously. "A-a-and what I saw, the things I saw, I need… without it…there's just the darkness. Just the darkness left, an' me gobbled up inside it."

He paled as Brianna stepped forward, and finally fell silent with a quiet nod.

"As you wish, Ma'am," he whispered. "I won't be seeing you again then, I think. But, maybe I will. I can't tell quite yet."

"Seeing me again?" Brianna very nearly made a face. "I hope not. I've no desire to return to this town, if I can help it."

"You will though," Marcus hurried to assure her. "First just a shell, a vessel, and then proper you. Proper you is nicer, I think, despite all that's as broken and burned as good old Ember inside."

"What, by all the ice in Cania, are you babbling about?" Brianna asked, and turned to pick up her cloak. When she looked up again, Marcus was gone. She was stunned to realize it.

_I should have heard him leave._

She did not, though. The woods remained silent, no matter how much she strained to listen. Eventually, she rubbed her numb hands together and tried to push the entire strange encounter with Marcus out of her mind for the time being. Her patience had worn decidedly thin, and she was mostly glad to see him gone, anyway.

_Finally, time to catch a little bit of sleep._

It was tempting to kick Qara in the ribs and pretend the ranger had done it, but she settled for shaking the sorceress awake none too gently. As Qara's slight snoring ceased, Brianna sat back and waited for the girl to struggle into consciousness. Qara was a heavy sleeper and generally needed a few minutes until she was fully awake.

"Rise and shine," she said cheerfully, because she knew Qara would hate it. The sorceress seemed to try for a glare, but her eyes wouldn't cooperate yet.

"Too early," Qara muttered and ran her hands through her hair. "Stupid watch." She yawned heartily and finally climbed out of her bedroll, only to glance towards the fire pit and freeze.

"What did you do?" she whispered, eyes wide and suddenly appearing fully awake. "What did you _do_?"

"I didn't… _what_?" Brianna glanced in the same direction Qara was staring and tried to discern what the sorceress was looking at. "I kept watch and had a chat with Bishop and a stray – _what in the nine hells are you doing_?"

Qara had stepped forward next to the fire and was grasping at the empty air. Brianna spent a moment wondering whether Qara had actually gone off the deep end. She wouldn't have been surprised.

"Power," Qara said, sounding awed. "There's so much magic in the air, I can barely see anything else. It's brighter than the fire, just hanging there."

Brianna couldn't see anything, but since she was not a mage, that was not exactly a surprise.

"What did you do?" Qara asked again. "Something must have happened here."

"I tried a few demon summoning spells," Brianna replied sarcastically. "Since I'm secretly such a powerful mage and all. Seriously, nothing happened at all. I was sitting here talking to this boy, and-"

"What boy?" Qara asked, still wandering round the fire waving her hands at the air. "Was he sitting there? Everything glows so strongly it hurts my eyes."

She was pointing at the spot where Marcus had sat. Brianna frowned as she considered this new turn of events.

"You're saying that Marcus has strong magic? How is that even possible?"

For the first time since she had known Qara, the sorceress was looking excited about something and there was a healthy glow on her face.

"A polymorphed devil, maybe," the other girl suggested. "Did he try to make any deals with you? Trick you into giving anything away?"

"No," Brianna replied.

"Oh! Did he have any strange marks on his skin, or maybe golden eyes? If he was god-touched…"

"No marks where I could see them." Brianna stepped closer, and her nose promptly itched again.

"Hm. He might have just been very gifted." Qara traced invisible swirls with her fingertip. "Divination, maybe. Did he make any strange predictions?"

"No, he…" Brianna froze mid-sentence as she tried to recall Marcus' convoluted stories. "Actually, I think he did."

"There you have it, then," Qara said matter-of-factly. "I wish I could have met him."

How very annoying this was. Access to powerful divination magic, and she had not known until it was too late to ask any useful questions.

"I should have realized it, too." The realization did nothing to improve Brianna's mood. "He was just so very strange. My nose itched too, all the way through, I should have known right away what that meant. Next time I'll know to wake you." She sank onto her bedroll, still irritated as she considered this new turn of events. Marcus had been so terrified near the end, when he had tried to ask her for something. She wondered now whether he could see something in the future that scared him so.

* * *

In the morning, as they were packing up camp, Brianna had made up her mind. She did not want to keep wondering about Marcus, but at the same time, she knew that she would not stop until she knew the truth about the boy one way or another. If she saw him again, maybe she would be able to get him to make an actual prediction for her.

"Your knife," she said, looming over Bishop as the ranger rolled up his bedding. "May I borrow it please?"

Marcus had stared at the object, not at the food the ranger had been eating the night before. "_The knife_," he had stuttered, before trailing off, terrified. She had remembered it just before drifting off to sleep, and decided that this was as likely a key to the mystery as anything. Unfortunately, but unsurprisingly, Bishop was not in a cooperating mood.

"No," he replied shortly.

She hadn't really expected it to work, but neither was she about to give up.

"It's important," she told him. "You'll get it back." That was a lie, of course. She had no idea whether they'd see the knife again. "And I'll even buy you an extra one as soon as we get back to civilization."

"I said no," Bishop repeated.

"And I don't care." She was so fed up with him walking all over her, but still she considered how much gold she had left. "Look, I'll pay you, but I need that knife. I can't go after Shandra until I have it, meaning you can't even work of your debt without giving it to me."

He spun around to face her, and stepped close. His breath on her face was an unpleasant sensation she could have done without. She knew not to flinch, however.

"What in the hells are you playing at?" he growled.

"Not playing." She brought her hand between them for distance as much as to make a point, and held it palm up. "Knife."

He mirrored her movement. "Payment," he imitated her tone. "And you can take your threats and shove them, swamp girl, because you're not nearly as scary as you like to think."

She knew she would have to give him something. Sick as she was of him blackmailing her for his gain, she told herself one day she would find a way to pay him back in kind. If any of it would even matter in a few days.

_Once I've gotten Duncan to tell me what his hold over Bishop is._

She reached up and undid the clasp of her necklace deliberately slowly. Neeshka would be upset for days if she ever found out Brianna had passed the tiefling's gift on to the ranger. After all, Neesh had already lost her ring to the man. Luckily though, the tiefling was off fetching water.

"Even trade," she said and held out the delicate charm. "You know it's magical. It'll help you survive, since that seems to be your main concern. And you'll get the knife back, too."

Bishop's eyes narrowed. "I'd better," he said. "Else…"

"Else you'll remove my innards as I watch, use me for target practice and tell my uncle I've been bad. Probably in that order. Yes, I get your point." She wrapped her fingers around the knife's handle before he changed his mind, and dropped the necklace into his palm. His hand closed around it and he snatched it towards him as though expecting a trick.

_Finding out more about Marcus' magic better be worth this._

She left the knife in the hollow beneath a particularly gnarly tree root, well concealed. If Marcus really had the gift of divination, she figured, he would know the spot. If not, she could pass by this place on the journey back and pick up the knife again.

Of course, it was also possible they would all be killed by githyanki and therefore unable to make the journey back. In that case, she decided generously, Marcus could feel free to be happy with the knife for all eternity.


	38. Pursuit

**Pursuit**

"Well, doesn't this just look like a lovely place to set up an ambush."

Bishop had stopped and tilted his head back to scrutinize the rapidly climbing path ahead with narrowed eyes.

Brianna, interrupting her conversation with Casavir mid-sentence, mimicked him.

"Mountains," she said disgustedly. "I hate mountains."

Certainly, the path had been raising steadily for the past several hours of their journey, but now, it appeared, they were about to embark on a climbing adventure not unlike the one they had been forced on in the Sword Mountains. Certainly these peaks before them were nowhere near as high and imposing as the Sword Mountain range, but Brianna still was not looking forward to repeating the experience.

"I will wager a guess that Shandra is not far from here." The paladin had joined them in staring upwards. "They may have hidden her in one of the many caves that line these mountains. We should hurry."

"We should _try_ not to get ourselves killed." Bishop's voice, to nobody's surprise, was dripping with disdain, and Brianna sighed inwardly.

"Can you scout ahead and try to spot where they might have positioned themselves?" she asked the ranger, just as Casavir opened his mouth for a reply. As Bishop glanced at the mountain once more, she glared at Casavir and swiftly shook her head. The paladin, apparently just now remembering their previous conversation about the ranger, lowered his eyes.

"I could try," Bishop replied vaguely.

"Great. More waiting?" Qara rolled her eyes. "I could just throw some fire at them and be done with it."

"You'd get a single spell of if you're lucky, tavern queen, before they'd make you a sieve," the ranger snorted.

"I only need one," Qara threw back a mouthful of empty bravado.

"I need you at full strength for whatever comes after this ambush." Brianna was not about to let bickering steal what precious time they had before Shandra was fly-infested troll bait. "We'll try this one without magic."

Qara pouted.

Bishop made his way up the mountain slope and vanished into the sparse shrubbery, followed by his wolf. Brianna used the opportunity to stretch her sore muscles. Marching for hours and sleeping on the cold ground the night before had left her body stiff and slow. She knew she needed to work on regaining her mobility.

_And to think I once scoffed at Bevil for doing the same_, she mused as she bent forward and placed her gloved palms on the rocky ground. Her calf muscles protested, causing her to grit her teeth as she held the position. _I've truly become a good little obedient soldier, haven't I?_

She sighed disgustedly as she straightened up again. Not too long ago, she had been certain that her time as a lackey to the city of Neverwinter would soon be at an end. Now, she was not so sure. Even if they _did_ find Shandra, even if the woman _was_ the key to finding the research on Ammon Jerro, and even if that research _did_ include details on the shards, none of these things guaranteed that Brianna would be able to get the githyanki off her back, and therefore no longer need the meager protection the city offered her. The further she walked, the longer the path seemed which would eventually lead to her being rid of the damned shards.

_Maybe I should try running anyway. They didn't follow me when I went to Old Owl Well because they knew I was coming back. Ditch everything, leave the shards to Duncan or Elanee or whoever wants them the most, go as far east as I can manage…_

Surreptitiously, she glanced at Neeshka, who was checking her daggers. Maybe she would invite the tiefling along. It was bound be dangerous, traveling by herself into regions she had little knowledge of. The tiefling was good company and could maybe even be convinced to come along.

Brianna twisted her upper body as far as she could manage and adjusted a strap on her armor that had been too loose.

"Daydreams," she muttered dismissively under her breath, and firmly redirected her thoughts to stay on the task at hand.

Bishop returned just when she started to get nervous about losing what daylight they had left. As silently as he had left, he stepped into view from behind a tree and caused Qara to jump with fright.

"Group of six, two hundred feet up," the ranger reported. "They've all got longbows and a height advantage. If we take the obvious route, we're dead meat. They've got sight of the entire approach."

Brianna chewed her lip as she considered the information. They could ill afford more injuries and delays. While she tried to get her brain working, Bishop was already throwing out a suggestion.

"There might be an alternate path. Means climbing."

Brianna's eyes automatically traveled to Casavir, decked out in his heavy plate mail, and from there to Qara. The sorceress was the opposite of stealthy at the best of times. There was no way either of them would be able to take this alternate route, especially not without making any noise.

"Is that alternate path to the west?" she asked Bishop. "If we hurry, we'd have the sunset at our backs, and they'd be blinded by it."

When Bishop opened his mouth, Brianna expected yet another scathing put-down, but the ranger was looking thoughtful for once.

"Not half bad, swamp wench," he acknowledged. "It's westward alright. Let's go then, and stop wasting time."

Minutes later, Brianna was scrambling to keep up with Bishop, ducking beneath branches, climbing over boulders and squeezing through gaps in the uneven rocks. Neeshka followed on her heels, light-footed as a mountain goat. Away from the broad approach the githyanki were expecting them to take, it was rough going, and the only reason they were crossing the terrain so impressively fast was the fact that Bishop seemed to have a preternatural ability to pick the easiest path for them to take at lightning speed.

Casavir had stayed behind at Brianna's request, guarding Qara and all of their packs. The paladin knew as well as everyone else that he would not be of any use in a maneuver where stealth was essential. The sorceress was probably still pouting, along with throwing the occasional horrified glance at the ranger's wolf. Much as the ranger denied the animal being his, Brianna was certain the wolf would not have stayed behind to wait if Bishop had not told him to do so.

The ranger slowed his pace after some time, moving now with far more care. Brianna mimicked him and watched very carefully where Bishop placed his feet. If she assumed correctly, they were not far now from where the githyanki patrol on the lookout for them was stationed. A single loose pebble now had the ability to give them away. Brianna had nearly died once already because of such an incident. She was not planning on getting another taste.

To her immediate right, the rock wall rose a good eight feet into the air, nearly vertical and dishearteningly smooth. When the ranger pointed at the rise, Brianna's heart sank.

_You've got to be kidding me. I am not _that_ good a rock climber._

She turned and regarded her surroundings, trying to find an alternate solution. There were a few bare trees growing in the general vicinity of the wall, but none close enough for her to use to manage the wall.

But she might not have to manage the wall, she realized suddenly, and pointed at one of the trees that she thought fulfilled her needs the best.

The ranger frowned. Neeshka tilted her head, looking confused.

Brianna pointed again, first at the crossbow fastened to her back, then again at the tree.

Neeshka still looked confused. Bishop, however, shrugged, which told her that this new plan of hers wasn't completely idiotic, and then stepped over to the tree and unceremoniously hoisted her up into the lowest branches.

She reacted just in time and extended her hands to catch a branch, pulling herself up.

_I haven't climbed a tree since back in West Harbor,_ she realized as she let her gloved hands run along the bark to try and find handholds. _I was never very good at it back then._

However, she had put on muscle and developed more body control since those days. Even with the heavy crossbow on her back, it was far easier than she expected to make her way up several more branches, until she found a spot that allowed her to stand up as solidly as the slightly swaying tree allowed. Several adjustments of her leather straps later, she had anchored herself securely to the tree.

The githyanki were wonderfully visible from her elevated position, bathed in the late golden sunlight and all lined up as though they were bottles waiting to be shattered by Brianna's bolts at the Harvest Fair. Even better, they all had their backs turned, but Brianna still made sure to keep herself as hidden as possible in case one decided to throw a glance behind him.

Below her, Neeshka had begun scaling the rock wall. The tiefling looked enviably at home climbing, using her tail for balance as she advanced upwards. Bishop, meanwhile, had climbed a tree as well. If Brianna hadn't known exactly where he was, she wouldn't have been able to spot the ranger. She tried not to be impressed.

She readied her bow as quietly as possible. When Neeshka approached the edge of the wall, she aimed, and realized suddenly that they had not agreed on who was going to take out which target. What if they all aimed for the same gith?

With a mental shrug, she picked one at random and waited, giving Neeshka time to pull a dagger from its sheath with one hand, peek at their targets, and hurl the weapon with as much force as the tiefling could muster without losing her precarious grip on the rocks.

Brianna fired just as she saw the dagger impact its victim's back. Her bolt tore through the shoulder of its intended victim and sent him sprawling, and she fumbled for her next bolt, watching as Neeshka threw a second dagger and then retreated below the giths' line of sight. Bishop's arrow, meanwhile, had pierced the throat of its victim cleanly.

The three githyanki who were not yet injured or dying wheeled around, bows at the ready, and tried to figure out the origin of this unexpected attack.

_Like fish in a barrel_, Brianna thought, amused, and fired another bolt. Then she reeled backwards, glad for her leather straps keeping her upright as she sought cover behind a thick branch just in time to avoid the arrow coming her way, which impacted the wood close to her head with a dull _thunk_.

_Fish with some serious counter-attacks_, she mentally corrected herself as she waited and tried to catch a glimpse of the goings-on without presenting herself as a target. When she finally dared to stick her head out, none of the gith were left standing. Most of them had one or several of Bishop's green-feathered arrows sticking out of some vital part of their anatomy.

_One step further_, Brianna thought, untying her straps and making her way back down the tree.

The sun had vanished below the horizon by the time they were all assembled and ready to continue onward, leaving the icy sky streaked with spectacularly glowing bands of orange and pink. They had not quite faded yet when Brianna stepped towards the dark opening formed by the rock.

_Great. Caves. Because I haven't seen nearly enough of those lately._

She sighed and pulled her chalice out of her pack. It appeared they were finally getting close to their goal, but she was pretty certain that whatever lay between them and Shandra, githyanki or otherwise, was not going to step aside and wave pleasantly as they went on to rescue the damned farm girl. Touching the hilt of her blade for reassurance more than an actual need to draw it at this point, she stepped forward into the dark cave mouth.

They advanced slowly, wish Bishop taking point accompanied by his wolf, and Brianna and Neeshka following closely behind. Casavir stayed further back at Brianna's instruction, guarding Qara. the sorceress, and the amount of raw power she could unleash, was one of the few trump cards Brianna could play when they finally found whoever was behind all of this.

As though on cue, another group of unhealthy-looking green-skinned gith stepped forward to block their path. This one was led by one male with a very distinctive appearance. Brianna frowned as she regarded the lines tattooed across the thin face, the white and black feather crown framing his head. She had seen this one before.

The image entered her mind so suddenly it felt like she'd been struck. Dancing mage lights surrounding that very face, the smell of woodsmoke in the air, the taste of blood in her mouth. Amie's yell as she saw her mentor, Tarmas, dueling on the village green. West Harbor in flames. Bevil, weeping over a lifeless body wearing tangled skirts.

"This one's a mage," she said hoarsely, just loud enough for Neeshka and Bishop to hear. _The one who killed Amie._ "Make sure he chokes on his spells."

She stepped forward, sword already raised. Her crossbow might have given her more of a first strike advantage, but she was confident Bishop's bow and Neeshka's daggers had that covered. Her sword made her feel more secure, more steady.

"Kalach-Cha," the mage gith greeted her, his voice rough and deep. "Zeeaire has foretold your coming." He grinned, displaying impressively pointed teeth.

Brianna was not nearly as awed by that statement as the gith might have hoped.

_Wouldn't exactly have been difficult to figure out that I'd show up sooner or later._

She did not dwell on it, however, because there were several far more important details that she noticed in the same moment. For one, the gith before her, Amie's murderer, spoke common. She had not encountered many gith willing to talk at all after leaving West Harbor, most of them being mere foot soldiers sent to hunt for her. It might be possible to actually gather a few bits of information from this one, and she started with the first question that came to her mind.

"Kalach-Cha," she repeated. Trying to pronounce the strange phrase made her throat hurt. "I've heard that before, from your kind. What does it mean? Is it a greeting?"

It was worth a shot, she figured. Even though it probably wasn't a greeting, she hoped the gith would be offended enough by her making assumptions about his language to correct her.

The male growled, low, and stepped right into the trap.

"Infidel," he called her. "Thief. Kalach-Cha is the name we give you, one who not only steals a silver sword, but destroys the sword to hide the crime and then impudently carries its shards."

She felt deeply satisfied he had given the information away so easily.

"You," she said, taking another step forward, "have been severely misinformed. I didn't steal the damned thing, or destroy it. Hells, I'll hand over the shards right now if you'll swear to leave me the hells alone after that."

"That," he spat out, licking his teeth nervously with his tongue, "is for Zeeaire to decide."

"Who is Zeeaire?" Brianna pushed her luck.

"Do not sully her name," the gith hissed. "Zeeaire is a sword stalker favored by the lich queen herself, and she had extinguished the lives of countless enemies in her path."

Another bit of information given away out of anger. Brianna smirked at that, and put more pieces of the puzzle together in her head.

"You're a sword stalker too, aren't you? That's why you speak common."

She could tell by the male's posture and facial expression that she was not going to get a whole lot more out of him before his patience snapped. But that meant she no longer had to watch her own words quite so closely.

"I am," the gith admitted, and she caught the subtle hand signal he gave to his fighters. "It is an honor to be chosen to rectify this highest crime an outsider can commit, the theft of a gift of the lich queen to her most faithful followers."

"Well, as I said," Brianna reiterated, catching Neeshka's subtle movement out of the corner of her eye. "I never stole your silver sword. But I did take the lives of plenty of your warriors that you sent to pursue me. And you may not remember all those you killed back in West Harbor, but for one particular life I'm going to enjoy watching you squirm in pain before I kill you."

Those couldn't be mistaken for anything but fighting words. Her companions were ready when the gith snarled and raised his hands, and whatever nasty spell he had been planning fizzled harmlessly when a green-feathered arrow pierced his hand solidly. Neeshka had meanwhile hurled an entire pouch of choking powder at the advancing githyanki, taking them by surprise. While they stumbled about, coughing and half-blind, Qara threw a fireball solidly into their middle.

The smell of singed flesh permeated the cave. Brianna tried not to gag as she faced off against the mage gith and his blade-wielding protector. In the corner of her eye she saw Casavir hurrying forward to help her, but she did not need the paladin's concern. This was Amie's killer, and he was hers. A sudden fury had gripped her and she relished the feeling. Her muscles reacted to every little movement the gith made, parried every stroke as though it was child's play. Eventually, another arrow sent the warrior gith sprawling, and the she guided her blade into a downwards arc towards the legs of the mage, cutting and shattering his knees. Somewhere behind her, the wolf growled.

"Nice," she heard Bishop muttering nearby as the gith sank to the ground writhing in pain.

Her eyes were focused on the pathetic creature before her, who was still trying to cast even with his crippled hand, and when he very nearly succeeded, she took one step forward and kicked as hard as she could. Several of his teeth clattered onto the rocky ground. It felt good to watch him clutching his mouth, spitting out blood. She contemplated the best way to send him to his death.

"Brianna!"

Casavir's shocked exclamation tore her out of the floaty cloud of elation she had found herself on, and she did not appreciate it. She turned towards the paladin with a scowl.

His expression, in equal parts shocked and concerned, reminded her that he probably was not one to appreciate needless cruelty. Her conscience promptly wavered between wanting to deliver a painful death to the gith and keeping the paladin firmly on her side.

"He killed my friend," she therefore told Casavir bluntly. Something for the paladin to chew on, something that wouldn't set off his damnable truth sensor. It annoyed her that she couldn't make up some dramatic excuse to sway him, but the truth was good enough to make him pause.

"Brianna," he started. She tensed as he reached out for her, trying to keep his aura from taking hold of her. She did not quite succeed, and the warmth spreading through her clashed horribly with the cold fury that had settled in her bones. Her hands shook as she battled them both, and nearly dropped her sword. Finally, she stepped back, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"Just kill him," she said roughly, and turned away.

She was not quite certain whether it was Bishop or Neeshka who took care of the task, but when she looked back, the mage had fallen forward, face-down onto the cold floor, and warm blood was seeping slowly into the rocks.

They moved on, Brianna leading without sparing the incident any further thought. There was too much yet to be done, and too little time left to dwell on revenge. She sheathed her sword and stepped over the half-burned bodies, breathing through her mouth all the while. But her feet had not taken thirty steps before more trouble announced itself by way of what was clearly the sound of combat ahead.

"Fighting?" Neeshka frowned, and scratched a horn. "Who are they fighting? I thought they were all waiting for us." She seemed nearly offended at the thought of the githyanki battling someone else.

Brianna extinguished her chalice and stayed in the shadows as much as possible, approaching the battle. She did not like the idea of anyone else meddling in this conflict. Th githyanki were fairly predictable, but if a third party joined the fray, whose motivations she knew nothing about…

"If this is another Shadow priest, I'm getting out of here," Qara hissed a warning.

It was not, though. Brianna's mouth dropped open when she first caught a glimpse of the group of githyanki, fighting… each other. Gith versus gith.

_This does not make any sense._

Not until she heard the melodic female laugh did she catch the movement in the shadows. Moments later, a woman stepped into the torchlight.

Even disregarding the large, leathery wings on the woman's back, there was little doubt in Brianna's mind that she could not be human, or even from this plane of existence. Her skin was too evenly creamy, her lips too ruby red and her hair too perfectly black and glossy to be quite real. She wore very little, and the flimsy fabric that did cover her swayed back and forth as she moved, teasing with the promise of an intimate glimpse. Even the small horns sprouting from the woman's forehead did little to mar the beauty of her face.

Finally tearing her eyes from the vision, Brianna instinctively stepped back and pressed herself against the cave wall as not to be seen.

"Bloody hells," she hissed, and tried to clear her head of thoughts featuring enticing womanly curves.

Bishop leaned forward and squinted. "She's gorgeous," the ranger mumbled, sounding almost entranced.

"She is a succubus!" Casavir announced with no small amount of outrage in his voice. "She is enchanting those gith to fight their own kind."

The ranger shrugged. "Still looks nice."

"I'm sure she'll love hearing that from you personally when she drains the life force right out of you," Neeshka assured him.

Bishop's expression darkened into a frown. "Oh, yeah, that." It didn't stop him staring.

"What in the nine hells is a succubus doing here?" Brianna asked blankly.

"Well, close enough." Qara stepped forward, looking smug. "They are _not _from the nine hells, they are from the Abyss. Someone must have summoned them."

"The gith?" Brianna asked doubtfully.

"Probably not," Qara shrugged. "They would have put up protective spells to keep the succubus from messing with them. Every child knows to do that before trying a summoning spell."

"So there really is a third faction at work here." Brianna rubbed her forehead and glanced at her companions. "What do we know about succubi? Ho do we kill one?"

"Holy power," Neeshka promptly pointed at Casavir. "I'm sure that'll do something to hurt them, or at least they'll itch as much as I do."

Brianna was momentarily distracted as she watched one of the githyanki who had not been charmed attempt to mount an attack against the demonic vixen. The succubus laughed again as she evaded the clumsy slashes easily, and when the gith did manage to land a blow, his sword would not pierce the demon's skin.

"They have skin tougher than leather," she noted. "Our weapons will have a hard time getting through that. You can pretty much forget arrows." That last sentence she directed towards Bishop, who scowled and switched to his blade.

"Raw magical energy should be able to hurt her. I could whip up a spell," Qara offered, eyes gleaming.

Brianna held her back with a hand on the girl's arm. "Not yet. Wait until these gith are finished hacking each other to pieces. Everything else would be just stupid," she added when she saw Casavir's uneasiness.

"But…" the paladin started, then caught himself, swallowed, and nodded slowly. "I understand."

Brianna was glad she would not once again have to explain the subtle nuances of survival to Casavir.

_Creatures who would otherwise attack you without a second thought hacking each other to pieces is a good thing. Interfering with that out of some moral obligation is a monumentally stupid thing. It isn't that hard._

Eventually, only one last githyanki remained, one of the charmed ones. He knelt before the demon, breathing heavily, looking the picture of devotion. She bent down and brushed his chin with long fingernails. Her lips touched his in a sudden fiery kiss.

The gith slumped over just a moment later, his face grey and lifeless.

The succubus laughed again, licking her lips and tossing her glossy hair back. Brianna considered whether this would be the tactically right time to make an appearance, but before she could take a single step forward, yet another actor in this convoluted play entered the scene.

The man _seemed_ human enough on the outside, but then again, so did the succubus if you took away the horns and wings. His age was impossible to guess for Brianna. Judging by his face, he was long past his prime, but he moved with the agility of a much younger person. His neatly trimmed beard was vividly red. His shaved skull glowed with a sort of magical rune that appeared to have been etched into the flesh, and a number of crystal-like objects woven into his tunic glowed with the same strange energy.

"Very good," the man said. His voice, sharp and gravelly, echoed through the cave. "Zaxis."

"Yes master," came a deep, strange whisper from the darkness.

Something else moved in the shadows of the cave, instilling in Brianna the overwhelming urge to run away screaming like a little girl.

The hulking shape would have been at last twice as tall as a regular human standing up, but here, in this cave, the thing named Zaxis managed to crouched just enough to avoid colliding with the ceiling. It was broader than it was tall, with blue-tinted skin stretching over bulging muscles. Its mouth was enormous, displaying double rows of pointed teeth, and the spikes protruding from strategic parts of its body led Brianna to wager a guess that this thing's skin doubled as its armor. A greenish fog surrounded the creature, moving as it moved.

"Find the githyanki leader, Zaxis, and retrieve the shards from her. Leave no one alive."

As the hulking monster, to Brianna's absolute relief, turned and marched away, the red-bearded man nodded and then whipped around faster than she could react. His cold eyes met hers. He did not display any surprise.

"Kill them," he commanded in the direction of the succubus.

Qara and Casavir began casting their spells at the same time. Brianna did not have any time to wonder whether or not their hastily cobbled together tactics would actually work against the demonic woman, because by this time she was already executing her first attack.

The succubus blocked her sword with her bare forearm. Brianna's eyes met amused green ones, and she wanted to drown in them. With a growl, she tore herself away and moved her sword to block the demon's hand, which was busy reaching for her.

A dull sound and a shout of frustration told her that Bishop's attack had not been any more successful than her own. The succubus, laughing, did not even attempt to avoid their blades.

Neither did she bother trying to avoid Casavir's hammer, which turned out to be a mistake on her part. Brianna ducked away just in time as the paladin charged towards them, and his hammer, glowing with holy power, smashed into the demon's right arm. Bones cracked. The creamy skin turned an ugly black-blue where the hammer had hit it. The succubus wailed, an inhumanly sound that made Brianna want to drop her sword and sink to her knees covering her ears. She grit her teeth and resisted the temptation.

With her good left arm, the demon tried to reach for Casavir, who avoided her barely.

"Careful, holy man," Bishop taunted, executing yet another unsuccessful attack. "She likes you. Probably gets off on the pain."

The paladin did not react, and instead swung his hammer again. This time, the succubus moved to evade the weapon and very nearly succeeded. The hammer's head clipped one of her leathery wings and tore a hole into it as though it was a sheet of paper. Out of the corner of her eye, Brianna saw Bishop's wolf circling the four of them, smart enough not to attack, but apparently unwilling to stay back completely.

Then, however, their luck ran out. On her next lunge, the demon's hand connected with the paladin's face, and Casavir sank to his knees making a choking sound. His skin turned grey even as Brianna attempted to dislodge the woman with her sword, as Bishop and his wolf hacked and tore the leathery wings to pieces.

Casavir groaned, looking to be in terrible pain. His arms shook, he dropped his hammer, and still the succubus was clutching his face.

_She'll drain him dry. Just like she did with that gith, and we'll be out one paladin._

She knew better than to touch the succubus, but still she reached out for one last desperate attempt to prevent the inevitable.

Then a number of bolts glowing with pure magical energy came flying through the air, and each sank into the demon's chest and made her jerk like a puppet on strings. After the last one of them had fizzled out inside her, she collapsed, lifeless.

Casavir fell backwards onto the rocky ground. There were grey lines around his mouth and nose. His breathing was shallow, his skin deathly pale. He looked at least ten years older than he had just seconds ago.

The silence was deafening. Brianna had no idea what to do, what to say, as they all stood, stunned, and stared blankly, lost for words.

"Well," Bishop finally muttered, sheathing his sword. "That's a real shame. Women, eh?"

Brianna did not have the energy to try and slap him. She knelt instead, her mind running through the list of all the resources they had, everything they had brought with them on the journey. There was little that might help Casavir.

"Here." Neeshka had approached unheard, and was holding out a glass vial. "Give him that."

"What is it?" Brianna asked. She uncorked the vial and sniffed, smelling berries and forest dirt. It seemed familiar. She knew she had tasted this kind of potion before.

"Strength potion," Neeshka explained, and Brianna remembered. _The shadow priest in the ruins near Highcliff._ She had been hit with a spell that had drained her, frozen her, and the potion had helped her recover. She stared down at the helpless paladin.

"This isn't the same thing," she pointed out, but tipped the potion into Casavir's mouth anyway. He swallowed obediently.

"Thank you," Brianna told the tiefling. Neeshka shrugged.

"He's not so bad," she said. "Besides, I figure our chances of getting out of here in one piece without the paladin to take all the blows for us are pretty slim."

Brianna hid a weak grin as the tiefling explained her not terribly altruistic reasoning behind sharing her potion. Qara shifted uncomfortably, and Bishop crossed his arms before his chest. An expression of distaste appeared on his face.

Casavir's eyes had closed, but his breathing had become more regular and less labored. Brianna felt for a pulse and found it slow, but steady and strong.

"We need to get him on his feet, or else the potion will wear off before we find Shandra," she said, more to herself than to anyone else, because she hadn't a clue how to get the paladin moving.

Two things appeared in front of her face. One was a delicate crystal flacon whose contents glowed red in the dim light, the other an unstoppered flask that smelled of decomposing laves and alcohol.

"Endurance potion," Bishop growled, looking disgruntled to have to share. "And brandy."

"It's a pick-me-up. And _expensive_." Qara glared as Brianna took the flacon from her. "Heightened senses, faster reaction time. You owe me."

Brianna spent no more than a few seconds wondering why everyone but her seemed to have a secret potion stash with them, and vowed to pay Sand a visit as soon as she got an opportunity to do so, in order to procure her own. Then she carefully tipped the contents of Qara's flacon into the paladin's mouth and coaxed him into swallowing.

The reaction was immediate. Casavir's eyes opened, still looking tired and old, but followed by a sharp intake of breath.

"Brianna?" the paladin asked in a scratchy voice.

"Drink this," she instructed, determined to waste no more time, and pressed Bishop's flask into his hands. "And as soon as you feel able to, we need to get moving."

Casavir's handicap put them on an even tighter schedule. As soon as the potions wore off, they would be out one fighter, and they _needed_ to be through with the heavy fighting by then. Else Casavir would become a liability rather than an asset.

"We have a couple of hours at most," she noted to no one in particular as Casavir sat up and drained the flask, coughing when the first drop of brandy-spiked potion hit his throat.

Only minutes later, they were moving again. Casavir still did not look his best, but he would be able to keep up for now, and that was as much as Brianna could hope for. They walked down the same tunnel that the bald, bearded man had vanished into. Brianna's mind churned.

She had no idea who that man had been. He seemed no simple mage, with the kind of control he exhibited over demons. Some kind of powerful summoner or warlock, she made her best guess. She had never encountered one before, and in conclusion, she had no idea just how she might overcome such an obstacle in addition to all the githyanki might still throw in her way.

_On the bright side, it's possible he'll be doing a lot of the killing for me_, she mused. He had ordered that monstrous-looking creature to find the shards. Therefore he was after the silver sword remains as well, for whatever reason. It was interesting, then, that as powerful as he was, he appeared to have had no clue that it was Brianna who was carrying said shards. There had been no recognition in his expression when he had looked at her, only annoyance.

_Of course, it's also possible that the Sword Stalker – Zeeaire, was it? – has assembled far more shards already, and these are what he is trying to steal._

Her mind was spinning. She rubbed her face and was pulled roughly backwards by both her arms the next moment. Her attention snapped back to where it should have been as she finally noticed the large figure blocking the path just ahead of them.

_Bloody hells, what now? _

The figure was large, heavily armored and unmoving. It was not the warlock or his monstrous ally, but neither was it a githyanki. It was far too large for that.

"This guy look familiar to anyone?" Brianna whispered.

Silence was her answer. Eventually though, Qara made her way to the front, squinting ahead. Before Brianna could prevent it, the sorceress had picked up a rock and hurled it with all hr might towards the unmoving figure. Even as Brianna lunged for the girl, she heard the impact of rock on metal.

"Are you insane?" she hissed, and tried to avoid Qara's nails as they came within scratching distance of her face.

"No," the girl answered aggressively. "Just look!"

Brianna did. The figure had not moved, had not reacted in any way.

"What in the hells?" she asked, and let go of Qara.

"It's a construct," the sorceress answered. "I'm pretty sure. An inactive one. I can't sense any magic controlling it right now."

They approached very, very carefully, leaving Casavir slumped against the wall a safe distance away. Only when they had reached the metal armor did Brianna see that it was empty inside, but at the same time, the blades for arms that this towering thing had made her want to take several large steps back.

Qara seemed to suffer from no such reservations.

"A blade golem," she decided, walked around the figure admiringly, and elaborated when she caught sight of Brianna's expression. "As I said, a construct. Raw elemental matter given life, made to move around, through magic. It takes a lot of power to make one of those, more than I have."

Regret flickered across her expression for just a moment.

"Anyway, it's inactive. It has been damaged." She pointed towards the chest plate, where several large scratches had bent the metal. "I'm not sure what did it though."

"Succubus," Neeshka knew. "Fingernails."

"Succubi can do _this_?" Brianna stared, though she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised after seeing one of the demonic vixens block her sword with a bare forearm. "Bloody hells."

"So this thing must have been made by the githyanki then," Qara figured. "Wow. I didn't think they had mages this strong." For the first time, the sorceress looked intimidated.

"It's not," Bishop announced at that moment. Brianna turned just in time to see the ranger haul a lifeless body out of the walkway. "Gith. Slaughtered by a very long, thick blade."

She did not need to look at the construct's built-in weaponry any more closely to know the description matched.

"So this thing was torn apart by demons, and it killed githyanki." Bishop did not look happy about the conclusion. Brianna felt sick.

"Since it certainly isn't ours, that means there's a _fourth_ party mixing things up here." She tried to find an appropriate curse word, and failed.

"How many enemies do you have, anyway? I'm losing count," Bishop drawled, and leaned leisurely against the cave wall.

"There's a surprise," Qara interjected sweetly.

"Watch it," the ranger said in a warning tone and narrowed his eyes at her. Qara, predictably, shrank back a little but tried to look like she wasn't.

Brianna's head hurt. She had no idea what any of this meant, and no chance in the hells to figure it all out. Their best bet was to move on and ignore all of these disconcerting implications for now.

"Let's go," she said therefore simply and stepped past the construct.

"Quality metal though," Bishop commented, banging his knuckles against the armored shell. "You could sell this for a nice price."

"Bishop," she growled, and the ranger, for once, just shut up and followed as they descended deeper into the bowels of the mountain.


	39. Bloodletting

**Bloodletting**

In the heart of the mountain, they found ruins.

As the rock walls first changed to crumbling brick, Brianna regarded them with mixed feelings. They reminded her too much of the ruins near West Harbor, those the lizardfolk had made into their home. The place where Daeghun had long ago hidden a single shard from a githyanki silver sword, before he had sent Brianna to retrieve it.

The circular patterns scratched into the stones were the same. The crumbled mosaic across which she dragged her feet had distinct similarities to the old lizardling ruins.

Somehow, she couldn't quite get herself to believe that it was a coincidence. A shard had been in the ruins near West Harbor, and now Shandra, who might just be the key to unlocking the mystery behind the shards, had been brought here, by githyanki sword stalkers who were collecting the shards themselves.

"Anyone know what we're looking at?" she asked. Her voice echoed in what had once been a hallway. "What civilization put up these structures, or how old they are?"

Heads were shaken. Bishop didn't bother replying. Casavir was still looking pale and did not appear to have heard her. She took a moment to study the patterns closely, so she would be able to make a sketch of them later for someone more knowledgeable to analyze.

"Guys," Neeshka said, her voice high-pitched. She was pointing ahead, to where the hallway widened into what might at one point in time have served as an atrium. A lone, slim figure was standing there, as unmoving as the broken construct. Behind the dark silhouette, a wall that appeared to be made of shimmering, liquid light blocked the way forward.

"Great," Qara sighed, exasperated. "What _now_?"

As they drew closer, Brianna was able to get a better look at this new obstacle in their path. The loose robes could not quite conceal how slender and frail this man was. His skin was the color of ashes, his face smooth and pointed, yet his eyes looked ancient. His fingernails were as long and sharp-looking as those of the succubus had been.

It also became quite obvious why the man was not moving towards, or even away from them. He was standing in the middle of a circle that had been painstakingly painted onto the mosaic and infused with magic, causing it to give off a faint glow. Brianna had seen a circle just like it in Sand's shop before, but never in use. She strained to recall the wizard's hasty explanation on the subject.

A summoning circle.

Which meant that the creature inside it had been summoned from another plane of existence into the circle.

Which meant that he – she chose to assume it was a he – was trapped inside the circle until and unless the one who summoned him chose to release him.

Which meant that she still had no idea which of the different factions hunting for the shards the creature inside the circle was associated with, but, as he was incapable of attacking her, she could perhaps attempt to talk to him and get the information from him.

She steeled herself and stepped closer. The man did not appear to be startled by her presence at all, but looked up and gave her a polite nod of greeting.

"Well met," he said calmly.

…well. She _had_ hoped to be able to talk, but the complete lack of hostility threw her off her game.

"The same to you," she said finally, and stopped in her tracks several feet away from the circle. Neeshka came to a halt next to her, then promptly took a step back again and scratched her upper arms.

"Urgh!" the tiefling exclaimed. "Whoever he is, he gives me the holies. Devil, I think. Don't trust a word he says. In fact, don't even talk to him at all."

Brianna turned to Casavir, who appeared to be in similar discomfort from the summoned creature's presence, but lacked the energy to speak.

The devil had meanwhile taken a moment to peer at Neeshka.

"Blood from the lower planes?" he asked with polite interest. "A tiefling, is it? Well met to you as well."

"Yeah, yeah." Neeshka crossed her arms before her chest. "Don't even try. I can smell all your tricks, so don't even try to pretend we're some sort of friends."

Her hostility seemed to glance off the devil like water off an oilskin. "I meant no offense," he replied simply, which had the effect of deepening Neeshka's frown.

"Are you the one blocking our path?" Qara asked. The sorceress had stepped forward and was regarding the shimmering barrier that blocked the way further into the ruins. "I can't even tell what this is. I've never seen anything like it."

"Ah, yes, the barrier." The devil turned briefly to throw a glance towards the obstacle. "Yes, I am afraid that this wall is indeed my doing. After being bound to this circle by a githyanki mage, I was commanded to shape it, in order to prevent any trespass. It is a wall of power drawn from another plane. Nothing from this plane of existence may pass through it, and I would not recommend trying."

Qara, who had raised a hand to touch the wall, hastily withdrew it again.

"That is powerful," she admitted. It occurred to Brianna that the sorceress had never been quite as calm and pleasant as on this particular trip, where they had encountered magic powerful enough to both humble and intimidate the girl. It was quite refreshing.

She turned to look at Casavir. The paladin had slumped against a wall, looking impossibly tired, and for a moment Brianna wondered whether he had actually fallen asleep. She walked over to him and touched his arm gently.

He made a noise she could not quite interpret, and opened his eyes.

"Do you know anything about devils?" she asked. Casavir, who she knew had studied all kinds of books on good and evil during his paladin training, was probably her best bet to deal with the creature in the summoning circle. And if the devil was correct in that passing the barrier through conventional means was impossible, she might not have a choice but to deal with him.

"A bit," Casavir admitted, and closed his eyes again. A frown formed on his face. "Devils reside in the nine hells. They are constantly at war with the demons of the Abyss and enjoy using the souls of mortals as bargaining chips. They are bound by laws, and will not break a bargain, but they will often twist words and cheat within the boundaries they set themselves."

He sounded incredibly tired as he recited the information.

"Are you going to make it?" Brianna asked. It didn't look like he would be able to fight at all if it came down to it.

"I will," he replied. "It is difficult for me to fight the exhaustion, though. Forgive me."

She nodded and left him to his half-sleep.

Her senses needed to be sharp for this one. She was pretty certain she had the brains to be able to keep up with a devil, but she had made plenty of mistakes lately because she hadn't thought things through. She could not afford this to be another of those moments.

"Well," she said as she stepped forward to face the creature once more. "The wall. Do you care to tell me how the githyanki pass through it?"

The devil's thin grey lips twisted into a smile.

"They do not," he replied. "This barrier traps them behind it as certainly as it traps you before it, as long as they remain on this plane, for it was not the githyanki who commanded me to shape the barrier."

She frowned, recalling his earlier words. "But I thought you said…"

"I did say that it was a githyanki mage who bound me to this circle, but my ownership has since passed on to the tanar'ri demon who devoured that mage's soul during the recent battle. A fiend going by the name of Zaxis. It was he who commanded me to raise the barrier."

"So you changed factions by force." Brianna tried her hardest not to give away her excitement about what she had just learned. Zaxis was a demon. Demons and devils had been at war for millenia, a little fact Casavir had just confirmed for her, which meant that this summoned fellow had to absolutely hate being at the command of the hulking tanar'ri.

"Is it possible to take the wall down again?" she wanted to know. "Dispel it in some way?"

"Not unless Zaxis commands me to do just that," the devil replied. "You will not be able to dispel it on your own. My presence feeds it. As long as I remain in this circle, the wall will remain."

She was getting the sense that he was leading her around by the reins to get to his point, and decided to speed the process along.

"I am not stupid enough to break your circle and make it possible for you to hurt me or affect me in some other way, no matter how civil and polite you have been," she established calmly.

The devil's smile widened. "But what," he asked, studying her closely, "if there was a way to remove me from this circle without breaking it?"

"How?"

"Banish me," he said.

Qara made a little sound of excitement. "Banishing him would send him right back to the nine hells. But we would not be able to do it without his true name, and I doubt he would simply give that to us."

"True name," Brianna repeated. Now about this she _had_ read before, though not much. "Gives you control about another being, correct?"

Qara nodded. "Knowing a true name is worth a lot. That's how you summon powerful beings in the first place."

Brianna scrutinized the devil.

"I'm guessing you won't just hand that over to me, then," she figured. He replied with a simple tilt of the head.

"I would need your oath that you would use it only the one time."

It was not very reassuring to think of having to swear any kind of oath to a devil. She simply had not got enough experience dealing with such creatures to be able to do it comfortably.

"I would be doing you a favor, sending you back," she pointed out to gain a little time to think.

"And I would be doing you one," he replied evenly, nodding elegantly at the glowing barrier. "And if it helps, I currently have no interest to trick you into a self-serving deal for your soul. I would simply like to assist you and receive assistance in return."

"If the githyanki are trapped behind it, I've got plenty of time," she pointed out.

"As the Sword Stalker, Zeeaire, has more than enough time to flay and break the mind of her hostage, to squeeze information from her thoughts like sweet juice from a ripe fruit, and leave her an empty shell to be sacrificed to their lich queen," the devil agreed calmly.

"Ew," Neeshka muttered. The tiefling had sat down on her pack and had covered her face with her hands, doing a mediocre impression of pretending not to listen.

Brianna glanced towards the paladin. Casavir did not appear to be aware of what was going on around him at all.

"That is the same information I need as well," she therefore pointed out. "If they can get it for me, all the better." She tried not to think too vividly of Shandra's brain releasing juice like an overripe plum.

"But then you will have to get this information from them," he replied. "And the githyanki have their own portal past the barrier, ready to escape back to the Astral plane as soon as they have what they came to Faerun to get. What you seek may just slip through your fingers if you hesitate too long."

She turned to Neeshka abruptly. "Could he be lying?"

"He's not," the tiefling replied curtly, without removing her hands.

"Oh, wonderful." She turned back to the devil. "It would appear I haven't got a choice then, do I?"

His slight smile was answer enough. She sighed.

"You'd like my oath, then."

A simple nod.

"That I will not use your name except to banish you."

Another nod.

This was not a simple false oath like she could swear to a mortal. She knew that much. If she agreed, this was binding, and if she broke it there _would_ be consequences. It meant she would, after this point, never be able to have power over him again. It would also mean she could never pass on the name.

"What about…" she hesitated, thinking hard. "If I swear that the first thing for which I will use your name after learning it is to banish you, and after this I will in all ways act as though I had never learned your name from you at all, as it relates to using said name to wield power over you in any form or passing it on to allow another to do the same."

"Whoa," Neeshka said, peeking out in between her fingers and blinking. "What?"

The devil, however, smiled. "Quite impressive, mortal," he complimented her. "Very well. I agree."

"I swear it," she said promptly, certain that she had not signed her soul away after all. "If, in turn, you swear that this barrier will be no more as soon as you are banished."

"I swear it," he said in turn, looking satisfied, and flicked his wrist in a smooth motion. When he next spoke, his voice had taken on a strangely muffled echo, and Brianna was certain she was the only one who could hear him at this moment. "My name is Mephasm."

"Nice to meet you," she said, out of reflex more than anything. Her voice had taken on the same odd echo, as though she was speaking through a cotton cloth into a large empty room. Still, she was more relaxed now that the oath was done with. "Say, is that tanar'ri demon going to be upset with me for sending you back to the hells?"

"Probably." Mephasm tilted his head elegantly. "If you are in luck, however, Zaxis and the githyanki will have weakened each other by now, however, allowing you to gain the upper hand over both of them. For once, not being fastest to your goal may actually work in your favor, mortal."

"It might," she agreed, pleasantly surprised at his willingness to share. "Any other advice?"

The thin lips stretched into a smile once more. "No more for now. At least not without a price, mortal."

Mephasm gave her a single nod, and she knew there was no use stalling further.

"Mephasm," she said, and took a deep breath. "I command you to be banished from this plane."

"Until we next meet," Mephasm said, bowing his head.

Then the devil vanished in an explosion of brilliant hellfire that consumed him but stopped short of the circle's boundaries. Brianna could still feel its heat though, and took a step backwards to prevent herself from becoming singed. At the same time, the barrier's glow intensified for several seconds, and then the extradimensional obstruction was simply gone.

She stood and stared at the way ahead for several seconds. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest like a battle drum.

"Are you done screwing around yet?" asked the ranger.

She threw him a look. He was sitting, back leaning against a crumbled pillar, lazily scratching the wolf's chin and making the beast look like a lapdog in the process. He did not appear to have a care in the world, in stark contrast to the paladin, who still had major trouble keeping himself upright.

"I just cleared the way for us," she pointed out, annoyed. "I didn't see you working on finding a path around the barrier."

"You are such a hero," Bishop drawled.

"Sure am," she agreed readily. "Thank the gods you are here to sing my praises, since that's about all you're good for."

She saw his jaw clench and knew at once she'd pushed a little further than she had intended.

"Careful, swamp girl, because I don't need to be here at all, so watch that pretty little mouth of yours."

She badly wanted to reply, to point out that he did, in fact, need to be here in order to fulfill the conditions Duncan had set. But she wouldn't put it past him to just leave anyway, simply to be contrary, and with Casavir pretty much out of the fight, the ranger was, unfortunately, needed very badly. That was why she was not ready to call his bluff.

"This is all _so_ fascinating." That was Qara, who was snacking on dried berries from a pouch she'd taken out of her pack. "Say, are we going to wait until the farmgirl has had all the brains sucked out of her, or will it suffice if she is just mostly mindless? I've heard of some fun spells to try with empty human husks."

That did get Brianna moving. She pulled Neeshka to her feet and went to help the paladin up.

"Go," she ordered, and Qara promptly took several steps into the dark corridor that lay ahead.

"Not you, damn it." Brianna glowered at Bishop. "Could you please do your job for once?"

"Look there, you said please," he purred, but still pushed himself up and shouldered his pack. "What do you want, vixen?"

"A scout who isn't so mouthy would be nice, but I'll settle for one who will actually do the scouting."

He did not have a reply to that statement, which left her deeply satisfied even as he brushed rudely past her and vanished down the hallway.

* * *

Brianna had gotten the general idea by now. The tanar'ri named Zaxis was dangerous as hell and could more than likely wipe her out with a single swing of his enormous fists while not even breaking a sweat.

But he also was not all that bright.

It had first occurred to her when she had considered her luck in even being able to talk to Mephasm. Zaxis had to know the rules of true names, summoning and banishing, given that he himself was subject to them, being a demon. Still, he had given Mephasm the opportunity to free himself, had not forbidden the devil to speak to anyone else, had not sealed the way ahead of the summoning circle instead of behind it. If they had encountered the extradimensional barrier before they had encountered Mephasm, they would have had no chance to get past it.

So she felt very little surprise when she found out that Zaxis apparently had not considered the possibility that the githyanki might be ready for his one-demon assault.

He had certainly fought bravely, as evidenced by the many githyanki corpses they had stepped over as they had passed through the long hallway. But eventually, the githyanki had proven the more resourceful in the conflict, and dealt with the tanar'ri.

Temporarily, anyway.

She stared at Zaxis through a wall that appeared to be made of glass. This one did not shimmer as the barrier had, but it hummed with magical energy nonetheless. The demon was sitting in an alcove next to a succubus, the both of them sealed in completely by the glassy wall.

Casavir groaned almost comically, and crumbled to the floor beneath his pack. Brianna turned only briefly, and focused her attention where it needed to be when she saw Neeshka shoving Bishop's flask into the paladin's hands.

She brushed her knuckles against the magical wall and fought to breathe as her entire body was suddenly buzzing with the power. With some difficulty, she stepped back.

"What is this?" she asked Qara.

"Wall of force, I think." The sorceress was frowning. "I started work on that spell in secret shortly before I left the academy. I don't remember all of it, but this looks close." She laid her hand against the glassy obstruction as well and seemed to suffer no ill-effects as Brianna had. "Nothing can get through it. Nothing at all. You could dispel it though, with enough power."

"Please don't try," Brianna said without thinking, and watched as the succubus, looking very different from the one they had fought, raised her pretty head and glared at them. "Can they hear us?"

"Yes," Qara said at once.

Brianna frowned. "So sound _can_ get through this wall."

"I didn't say it couldn't."

"You said nothing can get through."

"I meant… oh, I am not going to start discussing metaphysical properties of magic with you, I hated that class."

The succubus, meanwhile, had sauntered up to the wall and positioned herself straight across from Bishop, who was staring openly.

"Handsome male," she whispered, and pressed her ample chest against the wall as she gazed at him. "Surely I could make it worth your time if you found a way to release me?"

The ranger blinked, frowned, and then snorted.

"Nice try, though a bit obvious. Tempting, but no thank you. I wasn't planning on ending up a pathetic heap of drool like the holy tin can over there."

The succubus lost her seductress expression. She stepped back and pouted, and Brianna jumped in with a question.

"Who summoned you?"

After all, it couldn't hurt to ask. She doubted either of these two prisoners would be as forthcoming with answers as Mephasm had been, but she thought that maybe she could wheedle a bit of information out of them.

The succubus only smiled a cynical smile and turned, leaning gracefully with her back against the wall. Zaxis, however, glared and stomped forward, throwing his entire weight into a solid blow against the wall of force. Brianna instinctively retreated several steps, as did Qara and Bishop.

"Zaxis is not one to defy one of the master's power. Zaxis will tell you nothing," the large beast said, his voice a strange sing-sang. Greenish steam was pouring off the tanar'ri's back. Seeing it up close, Brianna wagered a guess that this demon version of sweat did not only stink, but was possibly also poisonous to breathe. Luckily, the wall of force did not let through air.

"So your master has power, does he? Will he be mad that you've got yourself imprisoned?" she tried to keep the beast talking.

"Zaxis respects the master." The demon appeared to be pouting behind the glass. "Zaxis has been with the master for a long time, ever since the master first set out on a path of destruction, years ago."

Satisfied, she searched for her next question. The tanar'ri might not give her a name, but the beast was still stupid enough to supply her with useful information, and the succubus did not appear to care to stop Zaxis.

"Path of destruction?" she prompted. "That must have been, er, fun."

"It was wonderful," Zaxis whispered, and, disturbingly, the hulking blue creature giggled with delight. "The master led an army of demons through the villages, his control loose on all of us, and we indulged as we saw fit. Ah, it was a feast."

Bells of recognition went off in Brianna's head. She had heard this story before. Hells, West Harbor celebrated an entire harvest festival every year in remembrance of the event.

"Your master is the shadow king?" She frowned. "But he was killed by the greycloaks during the battle of West Harbor, all those years ago. How can he be here?"

"Look at that, swamp vixen." That was Bishop, whistling between his teeth. "You might be talking to the thing that ate your mother for a light snack."

She shut the ranger out of her thoughts forcefully and focused on the demon.

"Names mean nothing to Zaxis," the creature mumbled sullenly. "But Zaxis is loyal to the master, oh yes, loyal."

With that the creature turned, imitating the succubus in presenting his spiked backside.

Brianna felt a sickly sensation in the pit of her stomach as she regarded the wall of force once more.

"How long until that thing fizzles?" she asked.

Qara pondered it. "Depends on the power of the mage who put it up. A few hours, maybe."

She resisted the temptation to touch the near-invisible obstacle once more, just to make sure it was solid. "If the mage who created it dies, will it vanish?"

"Shouldn't," the sorceress shrugged. "I'm pretty sure."

It was not terribly reassuring, but Brianna hadn't got much of a choice.

"We need to keep moving. Else Shandra will be decomposing by the time we get there."

She knew her voice sounded tired. After everything they had already fought through, it was difficult to find the motivation to keep going. If she hadn't known her own life might well depend on the outcome of this entire mess, she might have just turned around here and headed for the nearest hiding place.

* * *

In the deepest bowels of the ruins beneath the mountain, the githyanki had built a portal – their means of crossing over from the astral plane in which they resided. The portal was anchored by a structure that reminded Brianna of a clawed hand frozen in the process of coming out of the ground. The spiky pillars that passed for fingers had been covered in glowing runes, and they clutched a shimmering orb, about six feet in diameter, that shimmered in the very same way that Mephasm's extradimensonal barrier had shimmered. As opposed to the earlier barrier though, which had been white, the portal bathed the entire room in an eerie crimson light.

Behind the portal, suspended by her legs from the ceiling, hung Shandra.

They were certainly too late to spare the farm girl the horror of torture, this much was obvious. Her blond hair was matted with blood. Her neck displayed thick rope burns. There were shallow cuts all the way down her slender arms, and the skin there was encrusted with dried blood. Her body spun round slowly, and even though her eyes were closed, Brianna was sure that the woman was conscious.

They filed into the room, silently, one by one. There was no sense in trying for a surprise attack, as the githyanki knew they were coming anyway, and she did not want one of them to overreact and slit Shandra's throat. Better to talk, and gain as much information as she could. They had talked strategy beforehand, and now there was nothing left but to hope for the best.

There were few githyanki remaining, which was no surprise. Between those she had killed herself on the way here and those she had seen fall to the warlock, his minions, and the blade golem, Brianna had expected the Sword Stalker's force to be nearly depleted.

Two gith stood flanking the dimensional gate, swords drawn, but lowered for the moment. Another, apparently the one responsible for physical torture, was busy sharpening a knife, but halted when he saw them enter. A fourth gith was decorated as richly as Amie's killer had been, wearing a webbing of pearls on his hairless, blotchy skull. Brianna guessed him to be another mage, and the one responsible for the wall of force that had trapped Zaxis.

In the middle of the portal, surrounded by silver swirls which marked the dimensional transition, stood the Sword Stalker Zeeaire.

The woman under whose orders the attack on West Harbor had presumably taken place was around six feet tall and carried one hell of a large sword. Brianna felt a lump growing in her throat just looking at it – it was shiny, and probably very, very sharp, and if Zeeaire had enough muscle to even lift the thing, she could certainly do a lot of damage with it. Like crack open a Watch Lieutenant's ribcage in one blow.

She swallowed hard and abandoned this fruitless line of thinking in favor of action. As she stepped up to the portal decisively, she felt as though her entire body was entering an invisible field of magical energy. The prickling sensation she so often felt when magic was afoot was suddenly magnified tenfold, to the point where she found it hard to breathe, and even harder to think. The entirety of her mind felt splintered. The shards in their leather pouch vibrated against the outside of her thigh harder than she'd ever felt them, as though they were spelling out a warning.

Zeeaire regarded her with emotionless eyes.

Brianna was not sure whether her entering the room had set off some magical ward meant to weaken her, or whether the sensation was just a side effect of the portal, the magical torture that had been inflicted, or whatever other magic was hanging in the air. With githyanki, devils, demons and shadowy warlocks all frolicking through the ruins, it would have been difficult to keep track of all the spells being flung about even if she was a trained mage. But whatever this was, it was damned inconvenient.

She made a concentrated effort to pull together the strings of her consciousness which had been strewn about by the magical assault on her senses. By the time she had regained control of herself and was able to focus on the Sword Stalker inside the shimmering gate again, her mind had come up with a suitable greeting for the woman who had had such a heavy hand in shattering most of Brianna's life.

"I love what you've done with the place." She put as much fake sincerity into the statement as she could muster. "Really, I do. Great portal. You don't get many guests here, do you? It's a bit out of the way, I suppose."

Five pairs of cold, dark eyes stared at her and tried to figure out whether she had lost her mind. It was enough of a distraction to allow Neeshka to slip through the shadows unnoticed. Brianna did her best to keep the githyankis' attention until the tiefling had maneuvered herself into a strategic position in the dark corner near Shandra's dangling body.

"Kalach-Cha," Zeeaire finally greeted her, being the first one to throw off her surprise. "I have been expecting you."

"You don't look like it," Brianna pointed out mildly. "In fact, unless the lot of you are keeping up a very good and very useless pretense, I'd go as far as saying you weren't expecting me to ever make it here."

Zeeaire's blotched green hand tightened around the hilt of her huge sword almost unnoticeably. Brianna caught the movement, though. It told her that despite the cold façade, the unchanging expression, Zeeaire was hiding strong emotions. Despite the magical backlash still coursing through her, Brianna's mind sharpened. There was a weakness she might be able to use.

"You know nothing, Kalach-Cha." The Sword Stalker's voice, still frosty and distant, rang through the room.

"Kalach-Cha," Brianna repeated thoughtfully. "Why do you still call me that? Your colleague told me what it meant, right before I kicked his teeth into his brain."

She watched the creature inside the portal closely, but there was no reaction to her words. Zeeaire apparently cared little for the lives of those who served her.

_That would explain why she sent so many of her troops to their certain deaths without a second thought._

"It is a deserving title for one who has done as you have," Zeeaire replied, far calmer than Brianna would have liked. "You walk into this sanctum, insolent, carrying the shards which mark your crime."

Brianna grit her teeth, tried to keep her exasperation under wraps, and failed miserably.

"Bloody hells, how thick are you lot? I did not break the damn sword. Or steal it. For crying out loud, I was an infant when the damn thing shattered, during that battle in West Harbor. If you'd like to ask the tanar'ri you've got trapped behind the Wall of Force, I'm pretty sure he was around for the spectacle. I never even touched any of the damn shards until after your troops burned down my home."

Several seconds went by as they stood, in perfect silence, and Brianna met Zeeaire's cold eyes straight on.

"You lie," the Sword Stalker then said calmly.

She was trying to push Brianna's emotions out into the open, just like Brianna had tried, and failed, to do to her. But there was an advantage to having been called a liar so many times throughout a lifetime, and it was that over time, it got easy to let the accusation go, to ignore the hurt that was meant to be behind the words.

"You don't really think that," Brianna was therefore able to reply just as calmly. "In fact, I'm quite certain you know I am telling the truth. Now why would you keep denying that, I wonder?"

The hand grasped the hilt of the sword so tightly that Brianna was almost surprised she did not hear knuckles cracking. It had been a guess, a stab in the dark, but she had found Zeeaire's weak point.

"Thing is, you made a mistake, Zeeaire." She smiled openly at the woman in the portal. "If you'd asked me nicely, just after I picked up the shard, I probably would have given it to you in exchange for being left the hells alone. I'm not that much of a hero. But now? After all this? I'll need a little more. I want to know why I've had to live in fear for so long. I want to know why my friend was murdered. I want to know what in the hells is so important about a bunch of damned shards."

The hand that had tightened around the grip of the greatsword left it entirely. Brianna was not sure what that meant.

"You presume a great deal," Zeeaire hissed, her finger steadily pointed at Brianna. "You arrogant prime! The shards are meant for a fate far greater, for circumstances far beyond what you could even imagine."

Brianna ignored the steadily growing buzzing sound in her ears in favor of a witty reply.

"I don't know about that. I have a pretty good imagination."

The words pushed the githyanki to her limits.

"And beyond all, you still think that you can simply keep such high relics of my people? That they would obey your command as they would mine?"

And with that, Brianna felt enveloped in a power that was not her own. Her jaw clenched as she felt gripped by magic, as she tried to resist the steady pull towards the portal. Her mind, so precariously held together, burst apart again and she fell into a vortex of sights and sounds and crimson light. Pain once more radiated out from the center of her chest, but this time, she was in agony. She barely registered as the leather pouch pulled away from her, then forcefully snapped off her belt and flew towards the portal.

Zeeaire caught it easily. But her hand remained outstretched, the greed in her eyes unchanged.

"The last shard," she hissed. "Give it to me!"

Completely ignoring the fact that Brianna hadn't _got_ any more shards, the Sword Stalker kept up the magical pull. With some remote part of her mind, Brianna registered that her companions, who should have been busy saving her, were just as entranced by the spectacle as the rest of the githyanki were. Everyone was staring. Brianna probably would have done the same, if her body had not been busy twisting in agony.

Zeeaire stretched out her other hand as well, beckoning, increasing the pull. The shards she held, even inside their pouch, suddenly glowed brightly enough to drown out the crimson of the portal.

And so did Brianna's skin.

The glow, radiating out from her chest just as the pain had previously, was obvious enough to elicit gasps from several of the useless bystanders. Utterly fascinated despite the burning pain, she stared down at herself and found that her pale skin was bathed in flickering white light coming from the _inside_.

"A piece of the sword. Inside of you."

The emotionless mask had slipped. The Sword Stalker sounded completely dumbfounded. So was Brianna, who, despite still being busy battling the pain and the magical pull, managed to realize what this meant.

_A shard. There is a shard inside my chest. _

It was the last rational thought she managed to have for a while, because at this point Neeshka was the first of her companions to shake off the fascination, and as the tiefling leaped from her crouched position and drove her dagger into the githyanki wizard with the pearl covering, the tension broke and crashed down in a gigantic wave.

Brianna collapsed to the floor and stayed there. She was trying desperately to regain some measure of control of her body, but none of her limbs would obey her. The sharp, horribly painful sensation in her chest, as though her heart was trying to leave her body by force, would not stop. With gritted teeth, she fought the pain and finally managed to raise her head an inch or so and survey the room.

On her left, Bishop and his wolf were engaging one of the portal guards. The ranger had dropped his longbow in favor of his sword in the close quarters, as Brianna had expected him to do. To the other side of the portal, Casavir was engaging the other guard and having trouble with it. The paladin's face was bathed in sweat, and his arms shook as he lifted his hammer, but still he held the gith back from harming Qara, who was engaged in some kind of magical duel with the githyanki mage. Brianna was pretty sure that the mage outclassed the sorceress, but suffering from a heavily bleeding stabbing wound put the githyanki at a bit of a disadvantage. Neeshka, who had inflicted the wound, had moved on to engage the torturer.

Zeeaire, however, was still inside her portal. She was surveying the scene just as Brianna had been, and when Brianna looked at the gith, their eyes met.

Then the Sword Stalker slowly raised her greatsword and stepped forward.

There was nothing Brianna could do to stop the blow from coming that would snap her neck. She could barely move, having spent what strength she had on fighting the torrent of magic. She saw Casavir's stricken face from the corner of her eye, watched as the paladin recognized the danger, but he seemed to be the only one, and she knew he would not be fast enough to come to her help.

The huge blade glinted crimson in the light, as though already stained with her blood, and when Zeeaire's arms brought down the sword, Brianna feebly scrambled to move to one side. Her body was moving far too slowly. She closed her eyes.

The pain stopped. Everything stopped.

Then the clash of steel on steel rang through the silence.

She blinked her eyes open and stared, dumbly. Zeeaire's sword was still cutting murderous arcs through the air, but she had turned aside, having been engaged by…

Bishop, of all people.

The ranger had left his previous opponent to deal with the wolf, whose jaws were lodged firmly in the githyanki's calf, and was now dueling Zeeaire, longsword against deadly greatsword. It was just about the last thing she had expected. However, this was hardly the time to start being picky when it came to people saving her life.

Unfortunately, along with the knowledge that she was not, in fact, about to die, the pain had returned. Now that Zeeaire's spell was no longer active, that pain had dulled and now her chest no longer felt like someone was reaching in and pulling out her heart, but only like someone was slashing at the bare flesh beneath her ribs with the tip of a knife.

She managed to crawl several steps before she threw up. Her body's vile reaction to the pain took the last reserves of energy right out of her, and she dropped against the wall, shaking.

The fight between the ranger and the Sword Stalker played out before her much like she might be watching a scene in a play. Even Bishop did not have the strength to keep meeting the swings of Zeeaire's sword head on, but he compensated with quickness and agility. Half the time, the githyanki woman failed to even complete her swings because the ranger went on the offensive and forced her to block instead, and the other half, he somehow managed to either duck out of her way or else to redirect the force of the blow with his own sword. It wasn't pretty, but there was an impressive amount of skill involved in the display.

Something pressed uncomfortably into her back as she leaned back. She managed to move one hand behind her shoulders to dislodge the source of the pain, and her crossbow came clattering onto the stone floor.

She stared at it. There was no was she would be able to even lift the damn thing now, not to mention ready a bolt.

But she had to do _something_. Qara was on her knees, her blue lips struggling to cast yet another spell as marble-sized hail rained down upon her and turned the floor beneath her feet treacherously icy. Casavir was nearly at the end of his strength. The paladin's armor was all that kept him from being mortally injured as his opponent rained blow after blow down onto the him.

But as she struggled to drag the bow into her lap and fit a bolt, both the portal guard and the mage were suddenly caught in the same rolling cloud of absolute darkness.

It was Neeshka who had cleverly disabled two of their opponents and given Qara the opportunity to shake off the magical ice storm that had temporarily stunned her. The sorceress' clammy hands were already moving again, casting. The tiefling, meanwhile, had thrown a fistful of choking powder and one of her knives into the cloud of darkness. Now, she darted in to strike at one of the two concealed githyanki with her second dagger.

Brianna had never before so fully appreciated just how brilliantly quick-minded Neeshka could be. The maneuver might have just saved the lives of all of her allies in the room. As the darkness vanished and the githyanki mage crumbled to the floor, Brianna finally found the energy her muscles needed in order to ready a bolt.

Qara, free of the magic that had kept her pinned down, sent glittering magical missiles through the air, and Neeshka followed the act with a delicate bottle containing undiluted acid, and yet another thrown knife. Together, the tiefling and the sorceress managed to bring down both of the portal guards. The torturer, however, realized the danger he was in, and before they could stop him, he had jumped into the crimson sphere of the dimensional portal and was gone.

"Destroy it," Brianna heard a voice, and was surprised to realize that it was her own, weak and raspy. " Destroy the portal."

There was no was that they could let Zeeaire get away. The Sword Stalker was still fighting Bishop, but she appeared to have realized that the last of her troops had either been killed or fled. There was no way that after everything she had been through because of the githyanki woman, Brianna would allow her to escape.

Casavir, breathing heavily while resting against a wall, heard her. Even though the paladin seemed utterly exhausted, he muttered a short prayer and swung his hammer in a powerful arc that crested and then descended until divine magic and pure might collided with one of the metal fingers making up the portal base.

Might and magic won out against the githyanki craftsmanship. The pillar flashed brilliantly at the point of the hammer's impact before it cracked and crumbled, its pieces crashing to the floor. Casavir repeated the movement twice before he faltered under the weight of his hammer, but the damage had been done.

The crimson sphere flickered, the turbulence in the fluid dimensional gate increasing momentarily before the sphere dissolved in its entirety.

And Zeeaire, unfortunately, realized right away that her escape route had just been cut off.

Brianna watched closely as the Sword Stalker's face turned into an angry mask and then put her entire weight behind the next attack. It was powerful enough to send the ranger stumbling and falling backwards when he, barely, managed to block it.

Zeeaire stepped forward, across Bishop's legs. There was a murderous rage in her eyes that sent chills down Brianna's spine, the sort of rage that grips someone who has little to lose and sometimes turns the tide of battle. As Zeeaire turned to survey what was left of her portal, Brianna aimed, and shot.

The shot was possibly the most beautiful she'd ever landed. Straight through a decorative gap in the gith's breastplate, her bolt embedded itself deeply in the green flesh.

It was probably the surprise more than the pain that sent Zeeaire's sword clattering to the floor. Bishop sent it spinning away with a determined kick, while the Sword Stalker clutched at her chests.

She coughed. When red mist sprayed from pale greenish lips, Brianna realized that her bolt had pierced a lung.

She still could not find the strength to get to her feet. But she also did not manage to keep a tired, satisfied smile off her lips as she watched the gith before her take several breaths which looked increasingly painful. The life was leaving the wiry body in spurts.

This threat, at least, was dealt with. Maybe the githyanki would think twice now before sending anyone after her again.

Zeeaire, even weak as she was now, her hands stained with her own blood, caught the expression on Brianna's face.

"You… you think you've won?" asked the woman hoarsely. "You think this is over? You are wrong, Kalach-Cha."

Brianna just stared.

Empty bravado. It was all that was left for the gith.

"What lies ahead you have brought down upon yourself." Zeeaire coughed again, the red stain on her lips now more noticeable. "Upon those who follow you. Upon all who share your path."

"Are you threatening us?" Neeshka's voice rang clear through the room. "You really need to start realizing when you've lost."

Neeshka's challenging words kept the smile on Brianna's lips. The tiefling really was worth her weight in gold sometimes.

Neeshka was standing near the ruined portal, tail twitching wildly. Her arms were crossed before her chest, and she looked tired and battered, but no less defiant. Near her, Bishop was climbing tiredly to his feet, assisted by the grey, blood-splattered bundle of fur that was the wolf. The ranger, for once, looked far more exhausted than menacing after what dueling Zeeaire had put him through.

On the other side of what had once been a portal, Casavir had sunk to his knees. His weapon was laid out on the floor before him, and the bit of strength and perseverance that the potions had lent the paladin appeared to have run out. His arms were shaking uncontrollably as he tried to keep himself from collapsing utterly. Qara, near him, appeared to be deciding whether or not to assist the holy warrior, despite the fact that she, herself, looked like she was about to faint. The sorceress was sporting a bloodied lip, and her hair stood on end from one of the spells whose effects she had suffered.

All in all, Brianna thought their group looked battered, but not beaten. They had done what they had come here to do. The gith had lost whatever conflict they had started by attacking West Harbor. The portal, their means of dispatching warriors to the prime material plane, had been destroyed, and as a result they were not likely to receive any more green-skinned visitors any time soon.

Zeeaire, however, appeared not to have gotten that message. In fact, she tried her best to circumvent it.

"We were never the ones you had to fear," she rasped, which might have made Brianna laugh if she had not been so tired. "The shards, all of them, were needed to defeat an ancient foe, but we have failed. You now stand alone against what comes."

With that, the Sword Stalker sank to her knees.

Brianna did not want to hear any more of the doomsaying. Her mind was wavering every step of the way even without the gith planting doubts.

"Can I kill her yet?" Bishop's aggressive question tore through the silence. The ranger was standing defiantly, sword firmly in hand, wearing an impatient frown. When Brianna nodded, he raised his weapon and swung it in an expert arc.

She closed her eyes, but she heard the impact, the _crack_ as bone split in twain and life left a broken body.


	40. Seizure

**Seizure**

The docks looked so infuriatingly calm.

Something should have been different, Brianna thought as she picked her path through the crowd near the harbor. Something should have changed to show her that she was not the only one with a mountain of problems on her plate, to rival the fact that her world had, once again, been shaken up to its very foundations. A giant crater in the middle of the cobblestone street would have been nice, for example, complete with several hand-wringing watchmen.

Something to show her it was not just her who was being singled out by fate or circumstance. To say that she was sick of the constant and complete upheavals in her life did not even begin to cover it.

Bishop was the first one to reach the Flagon's front doors, as always pushing them open far too hard and causing them both to crash into the walls on either side and rebound. Brianna sidled through just before they closed, leaving Qara to bear the brunt of the impact.

The sorceress made an "umph" sound and stumbled backwards.

Brianna did not turn to help. Her eyes were adjusting to the dimness of the taproom just in time to see Duncan hurrying her way from the kitchen, dropping a dishrag as he opened his arms.

"Lass," he said, and there was a relieved smile on his face that made Brianna want to let him hug her for just a moment, at least. But there was a point of business between them that had to be taken care of first.

"Did you know," she started on her blunt question as her uncle crossed the room, and the words slowed him in his tracks. "Did you know about the shard in my chest?"

Alarm flared in Duncan's eyes for just a moment. If Brianna hadn't been looking for it, she might have missed it. But nobody could have missed the noticeable stumble in his words just a moment later.

"We didn't, I mean, I didn't… what shard?"

The dull ache spread throughout her belly as she stared at him. His face told her that he knew he had given himself away, but he was still trying to cover the mistake by talking far too much for his own good.

"Will you have a drink, lass, or a bath right away? And is Shandra alright? How did everything go for you?"

"What shard?" Brianna blankly repeated his earlier words. It hurt her to say them, as though she had swallowed glass.

Betrayal. Again.

_I am through with the Farlongs. Once and for all._

"What shard, Duncan?" she repeated again, ignoring the burning in her eyes and the whispers of the few patrons by the fireplace. She fought the urge to tear off her armor and throw it at him, to unbutton her shirt and show him the faded line that ran barely noticeable between her breasts, only slightly off-center. It wouldn't have helped cool her anger. Then again, she didn't know what would.

"Daeghun knew," she said coldly, spitting out her foster father's name. "Daeghun knew, and he lied to me. He let me think I would be able to dump the shards eventually. And I worked and worked for my freedom, and that whole time he knew that I had one of the damn things in my chest, and the gith could sense it, couldn't they? That's why they came after me so reliably. That's why Daeghun sent me away, and he invented that cock-and-bull story about the shard having chosen me as its carrier."

"Lass," Duncan said again, but she would not hear him.

"And if Daeghun knew, you knew. That's why neither of you ever bloody told me the details of the Battle of West Harbor, even after you knew I was fighting for my life this entire time."

She heard the scraping noise of a chair being dragged across the floor, off to the side. The ranger was sitting down and putting up his feet, watching with unveiled interest. The steps behind her told her that the rest of the group had likewise entered the establishment, but if any of them had things to say, they could do it later.

"You lied," she said flatly, and Duncan flinched. "You lied. The whole time."

She'd had plenty of time to think about the circumstances during the journey back. As though by silent agreement, they had all done their best to get back to the protection of Neverwinter's walls as fast as possible, despite the githyanki portal having been destroyed. They had talked no more than necessary, everyone lost to their own thoughts. They had supported each other when needed, and even though the relief had been palpable when they had finally left Luskan territory behind, Brianna had known she would not feel safe again until she had the sturdy walls of the Sunken Flagon around her.

Except she did not feel safe here. And maybe she never would again. She felt betrayed, the old wounds ripped open, her reminder of her flight from West Harbor fresh in her mind again. She had sworn to herself that she would not let Daeghun disappoint her again, yet she had been naïve enough to trust his brother.

And now part of her wanted to run up to Duncan and cry into his shoulder just like she had once before, and another part wanted to smash every single mug and tankard in the taproom and cut him with the pieces, just so he would know how it felt.

But she did not even have the energy left to hate him. She dropped her pack carelessly, staring at him through burning eyes, and felt so very tired.

Duncan nodded slowly, as though in answer to a question, and turned to go back behind the bar. As packs were lowered and people sank onto chairs in the middle of the room, Brianna watched Duncan filling mugs and sending customers out the door, none too politely. Eventually, he barred the door after the last drunkard had stumbled through it, set a tray of ale down on a table near the group, and slumped onto a convenient chair.

"I'm so sorry, lass," he said dully. The corners of his mouth were downturned, his shoulders sagging. She nearly believed him.

Bishop left his spot just long enough to grab a tankard of ale and chug half of it without drawing breath. The wolf, who had followed them into Neverwinter and the Flagon, stretched out lazily in front of the fireplace. Nobody was stupid enough to protest the animal's presence. As far as Brianna was concerned, the grey pelt had earned his spot there well enough.

Casavir sat on the floor, leaning against the leg of a table. Brianna was not sure whether the paladin had lacked the energy to make it to the nearest chair, or whether his current spot was simply better suited to his task – removing piece by piece of his dulled metal armor, with painstaking slowness. It was the way he did everything these days – the damage inflicted by the succubus had been permanent, leaving him with little energy and even less strength. When they had prepared to leave the ruins, some hours after the portal's destruction and Zeeaire's death, he had collapsed under his pack. Bishop had ended up with most of the extra weight, leveling several colorful insults the holy warrior's way in reaction. The rest had gone to Brianna, including the blessed, magical hammer Casavir wielded. It went a long way to explain the ache in her muscles.

Shandra was leaning forward in her chair. Her upper body was draped across half a table and her head rested on her arms. The skin around her eyes was still sunken and bruised, giving her an uncanny resemblance to a raccoon. The once golden-blond hair, cut to shoulder's length, was matted and tangled, and everything in the former Highcliff farmer's appearance screamed exhaustion.

Despite her pathetic appearance, the stubbornness and tenacity with which the woman had braved the journey back to Neverwinter had invoked a modicum of respect in Brianna. Still bleeding, in shock and disoriented, Shandra had quietly shouldered a pack and followed the group out of the ruins and down the mountain slope. Despite the questions she was bound to have, she had held her tongue the entire way and done what was necessary to help get them all home safe.

So had Neeshka, though the tiefling had been looking the unhappiest of anyone throughout the journey back, her scowl only rivaled by Bishop's. Brianna thought she knew why. She had made a promise to Neeshka, after all, to keep away from trouble. Yet here they all were on the brink of collapsing, barely alive to tell the tale of the githyanki lair. Brianna would have loved to point out that she had not enjoyed rushing into danger any more than the tiefling had, but she had a feeling her words would fall on deaf ears just now. Neeshka would need a bit of time. That was all fine and well, as long as the tiefling didn't run off again.

Qara, shockingly, had complained relatively little throughout the past three days. Brianna was not quite sure why that was, since the sorceress usually acted the spoiled brat and took everything as a personal slight on principle. Perhaps it had something to do with the realization Brianna had come to inside the ruins – the girl was intrigued by powerful magic. There had been plenty of it on this particular adventure. Maybe enough to keep Qara's mind on something other than the inconveniences of her indentured servitude.

The sorceress was currently perched atop her pack, looking uncaring as to what she might be crushing inside it. She had unlaced her heavy boots and was busy trying to brush the muck from her traveling cloak, _trying_ being the operative word. Brianna found herself wondering if anyone had ever bothered mentioning to Qara the cantrip Amie had known for cleaning and mending cloths by magic.

The stray memory of her dead, recently avenged friend brought Brianna's idle thoughts to a screeching halt. Her eyes snapped fully open.

"Well then," she said, and her own words resonated in her ears with an icy strength she had not known she had at her disposition. "I suggest you start talking, Duncan, before I lose my patience."

Perhaps the threat was uncalled for. Her uncle's face certainly seemed to suggest so, but the time to make allowances was past. She had just been betrayed one too many times.

Duncan, studying her face, seemed to understand some of her thoughts in that direction. His jaw unclenched, and he took a deep breath, only to let it out in a deep sigh.

"Very well," he said, sounding resigned. "Very well, lass. Daeghun won't like it one bit, but I'll tell you."

There was no sound throughout the entire tavern, save the low crackling of the fire and the occasional _thump_ of a mug being set onto a table, or, in Qara's case, the floor.

"There were four of us, back then, in West Harbor. Four of us left. We'd all gone adventuring together a long time ago, Daeghun and me, and Shayla, who Daeghun had just gotten married to, and your mother, Esmerelle. There were three others with us when we started traveling, but in West Harbor, we were all that was left."

When Duncan took a short break in order to strengthen his voice with a sip of ale, Brianna could not resist the question that burned on her tongue.

"You were in West Harbor?"

Duncan nodded. A drop of ale was running from the side of his mouth down his chin, but he made no motion to wipe it away. "Aye, lass. For a short time. I doubt they'll remember me there, too much other going on at the time. Your mother had just given birth some weeks before, you see – to you, of course – and she was still weak when that army of demons came knocking."

Her uncle's eyes appeared to have gotten lost in the dim flames of the fireplace. His hands were clutching his mug so hard the skin around his knuckles had turned entirely white.

"There was no warning. Just panic, confusion… villagers fleeing every which way. The greycloaks from Neverwinter engaged that unholy army there, but it was still a slaughter. Magefire raining down upon the village, dark power, that sort of thing. Neither Daeghun nor I knew it at the time, but your mother had left you to nap in your crib, with one of the village girls to watch you that afternoon. When that army hit, she and Shayla went back to try and reach you, to get you to safety."

"They didn't make it, I take it," Brianna forced out. Her voice had lost its edge. The lump in her throat grew in size when Duncan replied.

"They did, lass. They made it to the crib. After the battle we found them both. They were…" Duncan trailed off. His eyes stil seemed lost in that faraway place, so long ago, and his lips tightened bitterly. "It was gory, lass. A lot of blood. You were nearly suffocated, with Esmerelle's body folded around you so, to protect you. Daeghun healed that little wound you had, in your chest. Not until we found those other shards did we realize that one must have cut through your mother, and into you."

Brianna pressed a hand to the piece of leather armor covering the center of her chest. Six pairs of eyes followed the motion. Then, a low snort broke the silence.

"How suitably dramatic," Bishop drawled. "Mother dear protects her crabby infant and gets properly fucked in the process. Now you must be _really_ proud."

He still didn't appear to understand that mention of her mother was not enough to rile her up. Brianna gifted him a cold smile, hand still pressed against her chest.

"The shard must be tiny," she said then, more to herself than to anyone else. "If I survived it cutting into me, being that little."

"The cut was small," Duncan agreed. "Didn't bleed, either. Probably just a splinter. Almost a silly thought, if you ask me, that little thing causing you so many problems now." He seemed to remember the ale in his hands and took a deep gulp. Then he lowered the tankard and shuddered.

"Nasty business," he said. "Left a village in ruins, left Daeghun heartbroken. Left me wanting to run and never go back there. Left you marked."

"Why'd Daeghun stay?" Brianna found herself asking. "And why did he take me in?"

"We buried Shayla out in the swamp," her uncle replied. "Spread Esmerelle's ashes too, like she'd requested. I think he didn't want to leave the grave site behind, and neither of us were suited to raise a child, but I was the one who left for Neverwinter, and I didn't take you with, so…" He shrugged helplessly. "The dice fell that way, lass. I let them lay."

"You're a godsdamned bastard," she told him calmly. It was not productive in the slightest, but it made her feel better. He took the insult without so much as a flinch.

"Never said I wasn't," he agreed sadly.

"I hate to ask," Shandra said into the silence that followed the statement, her voice raw and her tone reluctant, "but what happens now?"

A loaded question if one had ever been asked.

Duncan raised his gaze to meet Brianna's. "The watch's been asking about you," he told her tiredly. "You've been away without leave, lass. I told Marshal Cormick what I could, but they'll be asking questions."

As far as inconveniences went, this was actually a fairly minor one.

"I'll be quitting, anyway," Brianna admitted her intentions. "No use in me staying, now that I did what I needed to."

"You don't think you'll need their protection again?" Duncan asked.

She shrugged. "The githyanki will need months to build another portal to send troops back to this plane." She had not yet told Duncan the details of their mission – maybe she never would, just to spite him – but he had enough facts to understand the meaning of her words. "They won't be a danger again so soon."

"What about that warlock?" Neeshka asked. "The one with the glowing tattoos who summons succubi and demons like it's nothing? He was after the shards too."

"He didn't even recognize me," Brianna reminded her. "He did not know I had any shards at all, not to mention that I have one inside me. He won't find me any time soon."

"But he's powerful," Qara gave her thoughts. "He'll find out eventually. Somehow."

"So there is another dangerous man coming after those sword shards." Shandra was clearly doing her best to get a grasp on the situation. "And what he finds out will lead him to me, and to you." She nodded at Brianna. "So we should stick together for the time being."

"What?" Brianna snapped, taken aback.

Shandra looked at her as though she was thick. Some of the old irritation crept back and chewed at the threads of Brianna's patience.

"What am I going to do, go back to a burned down farm as though none of this had ever happened? Till the fields and wait to be kidnapped _again_?"

"I don't _care_ what you are going to do," Brianna replied evenly. "But I'm planning to get the hell out of Neverwinter as soon as possible and never letting that Warlock find my trail at all."

Several people reacted at once.

Bishop snorted with amusement and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Your trail could be picked up by a half-brained baby orc that was dropped on its head."

Casavir looked startled more than anything, frowning as he presumably tried to find words to discourage her from this admittedly selfish course of action.

Neeshka tilted her head and looked approving, apparently thinking the plan had merit.

Qara crossed her arms and tried for an expression of icy disregard.

Shandra glared.

Duncan drank more ale.

Then something crashed against the front door with enough force to emulate a battering ram and very nearly sent the solid wood splintering out of its frame.

Brianna couldn't choke back the undignified squeak that escaped her as she jumped off her chair. Her tiredness vanished, courtesy of the adrenaline rushing through her body, and she had her sword in hand at the same time that Qara raised her arms for a spell, that the ranger drew back the strings of his bow.

They had all seen what the warlock's minions could do. They were not ready to take chances.

"Duncan!" a male voice she recognized called in commanding tone. "Open the damn door!"

Brianna released a breathe she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Not the warlock. Not yet, anyway.

"Hells," Duncan muttered, and rushed to unbar the door to admit four serious-looking watchmen. Cormick was leading the group. The Marshal was scowling, and Brianna did her best not to pull a face. She had hoped for a bit of a breather before she would be forced to have _that_ talk.

"Cormick," she sighed. "Look, I know I vanished. It was important. There were lives at stake. I would have…"

Then she abruptly choked on her next word.

A fifth person had entered the tavern, a very handsome man with full, dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match. He was wearing a cloak of luxurious blue. When he turned to take a quick look around the room, she could see half of the notorious symbol woven into the fabric with silver thread: A single eye, open in constant vigilance.

The symbol of the Neverwinter Nine. The elite guard of the ruler of Neverwinter, Lord Nasher himself.

Why in the nine hells would Cormick bring along a member of the most powerful force of Neverwinter in order to deal with a simple case of watchman insubordination?

Suddenly she felt very sick to her stomach.

The dark-bearded man stepped forward, and she found herself scrutinized by a pair of very blue eyes. Very cold, blue eyes, to boot.

"Lieutenant Brianna Storm," the man said in a deep, sharp voice. "By the authority lent to my position by the city of Neverwinter itself, you are hereby under arrest for murder."


	41. Condemned

**Condemned**

"What?" Qara, of all people, was the first one to ask incredulously. "_What_?"

Brianna, while listening to the blood rushing in her ears, was asking herself much the same thing.

Granted, she had killed a good many creatures lately, but few to none of them would actually qualify as _murder victims_. And none of them were, to her knowledge, in a position to be of any interest whatsoever to the forces of the city of Neverwinter.

_What?_

She searched Cormick's face for a few seconds. The marshal tried for his professional mask, but she caught the shadows of emotions flickering across his features. She knew him well enough to read them. The marshal looked unconvinced, uncertain.

But he was doubting her.

Bloody hells, he actually thought she had murdered someone.

She spent several futile moments trying to figure out whose murder she was being accused of, before it occurred to her that this little fact was bound to be part of the proceedings. Therefore, she raised her eyebrows at the knight from the Neverwinter Nine.

"What am I being charged with, exactly?" she asked the very obvious question, managing with some effort to keep her voice reasonably steady.

In the time span before he answered, several possibilities occurred to her, each more unlikely than the next. They had found out about Wyl. They had taken offense to the violence with which she'd ended the lives of the thugs her and Khelgar had ran into on one of her first patrols. Sandrik's death had come back to haunt her.

"You are accused of slaughtering the villagers of Ember," the knight of the Nine said then, and all she could do was to stare blankly.

"What?"

This time it was Bishop asking the question. Even while she shifted to stare at him, his face turned expressionless and he looked away as though he had absolutely no interest in the matter, as though he hadn't just spoken.

Brianna's mind raced.

Even though she might have drawn trouble for having been away without leave, she was still a Lieutenant of the Neverwinter City Watch. There wasn't a way in hell servants of the city would arrest her on an accusation alone, without proof.

So it stood to reason that there was a very good possibility that the villagers of Ember had, in fact, been slaughtered. In addition to that, or instead if she was lucky, which she usually wasn't, there had to have been several people doing a very good job of accusing her of the deed.

Someone had known she had passed through Ember, and had framed her.

Which meant that someone had been following her, as she had followed the trail of the githyanki.

She did not suspect the githyanki of the deed. They were not familiar enough with politics and bureaucracy to try to get to her so circumspectly. Just the same, the warlock could not have set it up. No matter how fast he worked and how many minions helped in in his search for the shards, he had not even known about her existence before she had entered the githyanki lair on her search for Shandra.

But there had been that unknown fourth party at the lair, the bladed construct, fighting both githyanki and succubi, its allegiance unknown. It was proof of yet another party in this intricate dance.

And said party had just declared war on her.

"Bloody hells," she said weakly, and sat down.

"Storm?" Cormick asked, looking down at her.

She put every ounce of sincerity she possessed into the look she gave him in return.

"Someone framed me," she croaked hoarsely, and wondered when her voice had decided to roll over and die. "Hells, Cormick, how can you believe I would slaughter a village?"

"I don't," he replied at once, and took two steps towards her. "But…"

"Lieutenant Storm, you have been of invaluable service to the city," the dark-haired knight of the Nine said.

"But the Luskans made a very convincing case," said a new voice.

Another blue-cloaked knight was leaning against the door frame, this one blond with a strong jaw and a pronounced nose. His body language was a bit too casual to be convincing, and it only took a single look from Brianna for her to dislike him.

She was about to inquire about his mentioning Luskan when her mind supplied the obvious answer. Ember lay across the border, in Luskan territory.

She felt herself go pale when she realized what that meant. Luskan was a city of cutthroat murderers, and someone from the hosttower had it out for her already.

The dark-haired knight confirmed her fears when he next spoke.

"Despite your status as a watchwoman, you are unfortunately subject to low justice. That means you are to be tried in a Luskan court of law."

"Luskan has not _got_ any just laws," Casavir blurted out. Brianna turned. Despite his weakness, the paladin was raising himself up to his full height. His pale blue eyes were blazing with fury, and he stepped towards the knights without hesitation.

"Hand her to Luskan and you might as well execute her yourselves. An _innocent_."

The blond knight's eyes narrowed briefly, then widened in recognition. "Sir Casavir, is it? Your charge has a lot of evidence speaking against her."

"I have not left her side for a week's time and more," the paladin answered evenly. "I will swear to her innocence."

"It isn't that easy, man." The dark-haired knight frowned in a way that suggested considerably more compassion than the look of his blond counterpart. "I don't like it either. Luskan is up to something, and a watchwoman of repute being accused of an act like this…" He shook his head. "They've asked for her to be handed over. There is nothing we can do.

"Over my dead body," Casavir replied evenly.

Brianna was very rapidly gaining a whole new appreciation for the holy warrior. Much as she would have liked to let Casavir do the talking, however, the paladin alone was not going to be able to help her out of this mess.

"Damn it, Cormick," she found herself basically begging. The marshal looked like he was about to throw up.

"They have bodies," the blond knight announced. "They have witnesses. They have the Luskan ambassador herself, harpy that she is, pointing the finger at you. Refusal would mean another war, and we cannot afford that. Our forces are stretched thin like a ship's sail bearing the entire wrath of the Bitch Queen."

"You'd make her a political sacrifice then?" Duncan, even after her outburst, was still looking out for her, perhaps in a desire to redeem himself in her eyes. "Even with a paladin swearing to her innocence? You'll throw her to the wolves to maintain some illusion of peace until Luskan tires of the charade?"

The knights exchanged an uneasy glance.

"It isn't right," Cormick muttered, finally picking his side. "It isn't right. Storm has done much for the city. You know it too, Sir Darmon. Sir Nevalle."

He nodded at both knights in turn.

Their faces hardened.

"Bloody Luskans," the dark-haired, bearded one who was presumably Sir Darmon, muttered. "You may be right, Marshal, but the law is clear. Low justice…"

They were slowly changing their minds about her – but they would still follow Neverwinter law and honor the treaty with Luskan. Even Cormick would never break the law for her, not without being convinced of her innocence to a degree she could not provide at a moment's notice.

"There has got to be a loophole," she suggested desperately. "There has got to be _something_."

The blond knight, Sir Nevalle, gave her a dispassionate look.

"We cannot refuse Luskan's demand," he said, as though she was daft.

"You can delay, though." Cormick's voice was everything but dispassionate. "Give her to Luskan now and she won't stand a chance, guilty or not. You can give her time to mount some kind of defense."

"Or time to run," Sir Nevalle drawled, but sighed when he was confronted with several heated glares. "Very well. Anything for a loyal servant of the city."

He pronounced the word _loyal_ with just enough disdain to make Brianna want to punch him squarely in the face. Granted, she felt about as much loyalty to Neverwinter as your average Luskan pirate, but she had spent enough time putting her own life on the line for the Watch.

"We will file the paperwork." Sir Darmon's voice was marginally more sympathetic. "There are no guarantees though. If Luskan pushes this, your reprieve will not last long. And we will need to keep you contained. You may not leave the city, and you will need to under permanent supervision. If you are, at any time, found to be not in the company of a Neverwinter official, you will be considered a fugitive."

"Brilliant," Brianna muttered. Her insides felt like someone had pumped her full of harbor water. She was about to throw up.

"I volunteer to supervise Lieutenant Storm," Cormick spoke up.

Sir Neville's smile was thin as paper. "Of course, Marshal."

Brianna melted into her chair as though she was about to become one with the wood as soon as the two blue-cloaked figured left. She felt faint. The room was spinning, with no apparent intention to slow down.

_I don't know how I'm going to get out of this one. _

"Storm," Cormick said, his voice apologetic. "I…"

She held up her hand, weakly, and he stopped talking.

"You're fucked," Bishop supplied helpfully.

"Shut up," she told him without any force behind the statement. He did

Someone pressed a tankard into her hand. She let it drop to the floor, where it clattered and spilled its contents.

After that, there was a long and heavy silence.

Nobody seemed to know what to say, which was not a big surprise, given that they had all just been barreled over by the accusations that had been leveled her way. Brianna's mind spun in wild circles without getting anywhere.

Luskan. Luskan hated her. Someone in the Hosttower had taken her interference with the Shadow Priests a little too personally, and they had the ear of the Luskan ambassador, at the very least. They had sent that ridiculous mage, Ahja the Azure, after her at the docks, and when that hadn't worked, they had sent the blade golem. Only the powerful construct had gotten caught in the battle for the shards and been disabled before ever even reaching Brianna, and so her unknown enemy had been forced to try a new tactic.

Since brute force had failed, they had rather successfully managed to turn the protection she had built up against her, to entangle her with politics. Neverwinter had turned from a safe haven into her very personal death trap.

And she hadn't the first clue how to escape it.

* * *

Several hours later, the panic had not subsided.

Brianna had dulled it a bit, with an iron will and with breathing techniques Cormick had originally taught her to gather her focus before combat situations, but which had never worked for her in that regard. Also, every time she so much as thought in the general direction of Luskan, her throat tightened and her intestines turned to icy muck. It was not pleasant, but she could not keep from revisiting the feeling every few minutes.

"I'm scared," she found herself admitting to Cormick out of sheer desperation. The flames were burning low in the fireplace, with what Brianna might under different circumstances have considered to be a pleasant warmth. She had lost track of time staring into them.

The marshal, nursing a tankard of ale despite technically being on duty, sighed.

"You'd be a fool not to be," he told her.

"Does Brelaina know?" she asked.

He frowned. "Should, by now. She was out on a recruitment when the orders came in, part of the reason why it fell to me to accompany Nevalle and Darmon. But someone must have tracked her down and told her by now. She'll have your back."

"Despite me going missing for several days?" Brianna asked.

His low chuckle sounded forced.

"You should have seen her. Concerned instead of upset with you, half-worried that you'd been carried off by Luskan." He frowned. "Funny how fast that's about to come true."

"Yes. Hilarious."

That made him choke on his next sip of ale. A few drops settled on his uniform.

"Damn it Storm, you know what I meant."

"Yeah," she said dully.

While Cormick apparently decided that it was his turn to stare into the fire, her hand slipped down to her belt and cupped the pouch of shards she had tied to it. She had not dared to touch them again, not after Zeeaire. Neeshka had searched the corpse and recovered the three shards that the githyanki had taken, and she had given them back to Brianna along with two new ones that the Sword Stalker had already found.

One had resonated with her. Two had sent her flying through the Flagon's tap room, and three had caused her to have to fight for breath when they had just been brought near each other. She had no desire to know what five shards at once would do to her.

"Trouble finds you like…" He shook his head. "Bees and honey, and all that."

It was a terrible analogy.

"Bees don't _find_ honey," she corrected him. "They make it. Produce it. I know that, and so do you."

She did not spell out what he had just implied.

He took a deep breath.

"Did you mess with Luskan?" he asked. "Tangle with them?"

She shook her head. No lies were even necessary in this case. She doubted she had the energy to do so, anyway.

"Wrong place at the wrong time," she said. "Twice."

"Twice?" he asked, sounding doubtful.

She had to admit it sounded a bit too improbable to be a coincidence. First the run-in at the Highcliff ruins, then the confrontation in the orc lair.

"The first one, I was helping the villagers of Highcliff, before Neverwinter forces could get there," she eventually pointed out. "The second one was Neverwinter business as well. Greycloak business."

"You're saying that it could have been any one of us, engaging those priests?" he asked.

She nodded.

"What about the other one you mentioned in your report, the one that druidess saw?"

"I don't know."

She bit her lip. The shadow priests were the reason for her predicament, she knew they were. The problem was that she had no way of proving it, of linking them directly – not that a Luskan court of law would listen to any proof she might bring to the table, anyway.

Luskan was weakening Neverwinter, and Neverwinter was too stupid to do something about it, getting tangled up in its own laws and regulations and duties instead.

But in the end, none of it mattered, except that the political tangles had wrapped her up and were about to eat her for breakfast.

"There was another, near Fort Locke in the south," Cormick spoke up eventually. "We got word to the greycloaks there after your report, and they did some poking around in a local cemetery. Had some casualties."

Brianna exhaled a long breath. "Another shadow priest in a position to strategically weaken the Neverwinter forces."

"They'll need to change tactics, with us exposing so many of them," Cormick said.

"They already have."

He threw her a look. "You think coming after you personally is the next stage in whatever plan they have?"

She shrugged. "Makes me sound more important than I am, doesn't it?"

"I don't know, Storm." He sighed and shook his head, rising from his chair and putting his empty tankard on a table.

"I don't want to die," she said quietly.

She was not sure whether he had heard her at first, but then he was by her side with two quick steps and put his large hands on her shoulders, squeezing tightly.

"They'll think of something," he assured her, sounding almost like he believed it.

She threw a wistful look in the direction of the bar and found herself wishing that Duncan would bring her a mug of hot milk with honey, like he had done before to help her sleep. She had sent her uncle off to bed several hours ago though, along with most of the others, reasoning that it would be neither productive nor pleasant to have everyone at the inn unrested and cranky in the morning.

She was not sure how much of the night remained. She and Cormick had talked for a long while, and sat in silence for even longer. She had entertained the possibility of getting him drunk and running, but her odds, unprepared, unable to take along any of her companions, and with the Watch on alert, were slim. There was little to be done until she knew more about her impending extradition, and that would not happen until the morning. Cormick had agreed to take her to see Captain Brelaina then.

A rhythmic knock on the front doors made her jump to her feet. She watched as Cormick went to unbar the doors and opened one, to admit a scowling Sir Nevalle. The blond knight looked tired and cold, but when he nodded to Brianna, she realized that something in his attitude had changed.

The knight opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a second, more elegant figure huddled in a dark brown cloak pushed itself past Cormick.

The marshal peered out into the rainy night. "Anyone else?"

"No," Sir Nevalle said, and waited as Cormick pushed the wooden bar back into place and returned to the fireplace.

The cloaked figure removed its hood and revealed itself to be a familiar, dark-haired moon elf with a glint in his eyes Brianna had not seen there before.

"Sand," she said, baffled, as the wizard gave her a grave nod. "What in the hells are you doing here?"

"He is here under orders," Nevalle said at once.

Sand pressed the fingertips of both hands together and gave the knight a good, long glare indicating utter annoyance before he spoke.

"I am to act as your legal representative," he then explained calmly.

She took this as her cue to sit back down, mulling over that statement for a moment.

"You?" She squinted at him in the firelight, uncertain what to think of this new development. "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you even qualified to do that?"

"He is," Cormick said somewhere close to her ear.

She turned her head from the elf to her former superior, and back.

"Oh," she said blankly.

"I have been known to assist the council in matters of the law," the moon elf explained, his voice now saturated with the familiar smugness. "And I take a certain pleasure in foiling Luskan plots."

She studied him as Cormick drew up chairs for the knight and the wizard. Sand was a bit overblown at times, and his manner could be grating, but he was competent. She supposed knowing this was better than having her case be handled by a complete stranger. But what did it matter, in the end, if she was tried in the mockery that passed for a Luskan court of law?

"So you expect him to be able to mount a defense for me?" she asked, fully aware of the skepticism her words were dripping with. "Up north? Probably explaining myself to the very people who framed me in the first place?"

"No," Sir Nevalle said simply. "We are not."

Cormick shifted, but the knight held up a hand, indicating he was not quite finished.

"There is a loophole. Luskan is demanding your extradition on the basis of you being a commoner and therefore subject to low justice. Were you a subject to high justice, a lord or a knight or in fact any kind of noble, you would have the right to be tried in Neverwinter."

The smug smile on Sand's face increased in intensity, and Brianna was starting to have a general idea of who had made the suggestion of whatever Sir Nevalle was about to propose.

"Well, go on," she demanded, unwilling to suffer contrived suspension when her life was on the line. "How can I hide behind that technicality, then, as I am clearly not a noble?"

The smug grin was catching. It was beginning to show on Nevalle's face, too, which was a bit creepy to behold.

"Not _yet_," he agreed.


	42. Solace Glade

**Solace Glade**

Before coming to Neverwinter, Brianna had only ever read about knights in some of the many books that belonged to her foster father's collection. They had been, for the most part, fantastical stories, and even at a young age she had realized that people were never quite as good and as selfless as those stories portrayed. Nobody could be this unerringly kind, and so impossibly brave at the same time

What she had not known, or even been able to imagine with her limited experience, was what a real-life knight _would_ be like.

Even after her journey to Neverwinter, this had not changed. Stuck in the docks, she had interacted with sailors and petty criminals, with her fellow watchmen and with the lower class traders and merchants trying to make an honest living. She had not walked among the nobility, or even mingled much with the middle and upper class commoners of the merchant district.

Casavir was the closest she had come to meeting someone who fit the descriptions from the storybooks. The paladin had called her "my lady" during their very first meeting, when she had been covered in dust and blood and without memory of the last time she had bathed. The two words had betrayed his upbringing. The holy warrior was not technically a knight, but he had the same background and had undergone a very similar kind of rigorous training in order to follow his calling and become a paladin. He was also more idealistic and honorable than anyone Brianna had ever met before.

Sir Darmon and Sir Nevalle, technically, had been the first actual, real-life knights she had ever traded words with. They had, however, in their roles as servants of Neverwinter and representing its laws, acted like any watchman would have. There was nothing very knightly about showing up in the Sunken Flagon and attempting to arrest her.

And then there was Sir Grayson Corett.

Brianna had been standing in the drizzling rain outside the City Watch headquarters for the better part of half an hour, listening to the man drone on and on. It was nearly dawn, and she was drenched and miserably cold, and he still had not finished lecturing her about chivalry and honor, as though reading straight out of one of Daeghun's more unrealistic and certainly most boring storybooks.

_Not long, and I'll start considering taking my chances with the Luskans, after all._

She raised her eyes to study his face for signs of the cold. He seemed impervious to the near-freezing temperatures though. His mouth was moving relentlessly, his eyes unreadable in the near-darkness.

"To be brave in battle against your enemies," Grayson was saying, and Brianna found herself wondering who else she was likely to do battle with, since he went through so much trouble to specify.

"To be just and righteous, to embody and uphold the laws of your lord and land."

She suppressed a yawn and wished she could have sought shelter at headquarters like Cormick, Sir Nevalle and Sand had done, resting by the fireplace in Captain Brelaina's office. The three of them had escorted her out of the Sunken Flagon and to the merchant district, only to leave her in the claws of what had to be the most boring knight in existence.

Sir Grayson was not one to make it into the storybooks for his bravery and heroism.

_I wonder when some bard will write a story about the knight who did everything he was told to and ended up with all the boring paperwork instead of setting out to fight for justice._

Because that was exactly the kind of knight Sir Grayson was.

"To be respectful to your enemies and kind to your fellows."

Gods, who had written that drivel? She couldn't place the blame at Sir Grayson's feet, as the knight was obviously reciting what he had probably committed to memory at the age of three. Just as obviously, he could have hurried the process along, but had chosen not to. She did not appreciate that part.

A door creaked. Brianna turned and tried to return the small smile Captain Brelaina was giving her, but her lips were shaking too badly from the cold. Her superior officer stepped outside into the rain and wrapped her arms about herself.

"Are you quite finished, Sir Grayson?" she asked calmly. "I need to speak with my lieutenant soon, if you please."

"To protect the weak and those who cannot defend themselves," Sir Grayson recited unerringly. After this sentence, though, he briefly closed his eyes and gave the captain a nod. "It is done."

Brianna sent a quick prayer of thanks up to whichever deity would claim it.

"Into the warmth, then." Brelaina held the door open for them both and led them down the hallway towards her office.

Brianna could not resist asking the burning question.

"So… is this it, then? Am I a squire now?"

"It is a most unusual situation," Sir Grayson pointed out, and Brianna sighed inwardly. She had realized by now that the knight was incapable of a straight answer. "Usually, potential squires spend months, no, _years_, proving themselves before being permitted to enter the nobility. When the captain told me of your predicament, however, and vouched for your character, and given that I found myself in need of a squire…"

"Almost," Captain Brelaina told her when Grayson took a breath. The captain was giving her a small smile.

Grayson looked sour.

"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat. "A great many concessions are being made for you, given the dire nature of your situation. Your duties to the crown, to Lord Nasher, will have to wait until after your trial. There is one observance, however, that cannot be postponed. The Vigil."

He said the last word as though expecting her to shudder in awe. She stared at him instead, expecting an explanation.

"Vigil?" she prompted, when one wasn't forthcoming.

"The Vigil," he repeated, sounding impatient. "The sacred tradition which every potential squire must undertake."

"It is a night spent in solace, reflecting and contemplating." That was Brelaina again, saving her another wordy explanation. "After this, you will be a full squire."

_And then, Luskan cannot touch me. Hopefully._

The simple thought sent a wave of courage right through her. She even found the strength to give Sir Grayson a nod and a smile.

"I am forever in your debt, my lord," she waffled.

"I am glad to serve the needs of Neverwinter," he said with so much sincerity that it nearly caused her stomach to rebel.

When they entered Brelaina's office, the three men currently in it jumped to their feet. Cormick looked the most anxious of the lot, his fingers knotted and his face displaying a deep frown.

"Solace Glade this night," Brelaina announced, and the marshal's shoulders sagged with relief.

"The immediate danger will soon be past, then." That was Nevalle, brushing invisible dust off his immaculate uniform. "I must report to Lord Nasher."

"There will still be a trial, won't there?" Brianna tried to keep calm, but hope and tiredness played tricks on her voice. "Even with high justice."

"In a Neverwinter court of law." Sand looked unfazed. "And that, after all, is my area of expertise."

"Good," she said, trying for a smile just before her legs gave out and she sank onto a chair. "Can I sleep now?"

"I will escort you back to the tavern," Cormick assured her as well as everyone in the room.

"Brilliant." She raised her gaze with some difficulty to meet that of Brelaina.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, and then her eyelashes fluttered closed for good.

* * *

As it turned out, a battle to the death, followed directly by days of hard traveling, followed directly by an utterly sleepless night tended to make a girl rather tired.

Brianna slept dreamlessly. When she awoke, a shaggy face hovered a finger's breadth from hers.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, and the face jerked back. "Khelgar!"

There was a crash, and the dwarf reappeared in her field of vision.

"Was only makin' sure you're still breathin', lass," he said apologetically.

She felt herself smiling without even trying to.

"It's good to see you." She felt a healthy dose of guilt saying the words, because she had not even thought to ask Duncan about the health of her felled traveling companion before the two knights of the Nine had crashed their party.

Khelgar grunted noncommittally.

"The fiendling says you're in trouble again."

She blinked, nodded, and propped herself up onto her elbows, taking in her surroundings for the first time. She was in her room back in the Flagon.

"How did I get here?" she wondered out loud, not really expecting Khelgar to know the answer.

"Cormick," said Neeshka from the door.

"He carried me? All the way from headquarters?" She made a face. "Ah, hells."

When she sat up fully, fighting the stiffness in her muscles, she realized she was only wearing her underclothes. She ran a hand across her chest to make sure.

"Did he… my armor…"

"That was me," Neeshka assured her. "He just waltzed in here with you, asked which room was yours, and dumped you into bed. Then he told Duncan to make sure you were awake well before sundown. You've got a little while left until then."

"Did they find a way to keep you from Luskan?" asked Duncan, also from the door.

"I thought you'd be on the run by now," Neeshka added.

"No." Brianna blinked. "I'm going to be a squire. And Sand is my lawyer."

Those revelations stunned Duncan into silence, his mouth half-open.

"Bath?" she took the opportunity to ask him, nearly pleading, and he went to prepare one for her, impressively keeping his mouth shut instead of asking the hundred questions that were bound to be on his mind.

Neeshka helped her back into her armor after she had gotten clean. Even if she was about to join the ranks of nobility, she certainly did not look the part. She still had not managed to replace the old, stained leather with its frayed straps and stink of blood. Her boots were crusted with dirt.

She just hoped Sir Grayson would not give her another lecture about proper apparel and representation.

* * *

As it turned out, the knight had an entirely different lecture prepared for her listening pleasure. At least this time, she did not have to wait in the rain for him to deliver it. He talked as they made their way together from Dolphin Bridge to the eastern gate of Neverwinter. Apparently, walking on foot to the place where she would spend a night thinking about nothing in particular was part of the grand knightly tradition.

They left the city itself, made their way along the eastern road and finally veered off the road and crossed several muddy fields. By the time they reached the aptly named Solace Glade, only a streak of pink remained on the darkening horizon, and Brianna had heard far more than she cared to know about the things she ought to be contemplating that night.

Solace Glade was a patch of grass and undergrowth surrounded by a copse of trees, which was probably an offshoot from the nearby Neverwinter Forest. The ground was soggy from the rain, but someone had been kind enough to light a fire and set extra wood next to it to dry. Brianna eyed the flames appreciatively. Her fingers were icy even inside her leather gloves.

"Your mind and body are prepared for this night of solitude?" Sir Grayson asked her formally.

She took a moment to consider the question. She was dressed warmly, and there was a fire. She would more than likely still be miserably cold this night, but she would not freeze to death. As for her mind, she found the question to be a bloody stupid one. Even if she had planned on contemplating all the mind-numbingly boring things he had told her to consider, she would hardly need any sort of special mental preparation to begin the act of thinking.

"I am ready," she replied simply, hoping it would lead to less talking on his part.

"Very well," he said.

She kept her eyes on the fire, but heard the slurping sounds of boots in muck as he took several steps through the moist grass. A hand patted her shoulder more awkwardly than she would have expected.

"Every knight and squire of Neverwinter has touched this sacred ground. The trees have witnessed a mass of prayers to Torm, to Tyr, to Helm and to Tempus. Listen to your heart this night, young squire."

She was glad when he pulled his hand away and his squelching footsteps indicated he was leaving her. There was no sense in standing around and freezing, so she found a reasonably dry bit of chopped up tree trunk near the fire and got comfortable.

…well.

She spent several long minutes wondering whether anyone had ever died of boredom during the Vigil. She had the entire bloody night to do anything but fall into brooding over the concept of honor. Perhaps she should have brought a book. If she was a woman of faith, she might have prayed and asked for guidance through this convoluted situation she found herself in, but the gods had never shown her any favor. She was not one to get on her knees and beg pathetically for divine intervention.

But, at least, after this long night was over, she would be a noble. It was the very lowest rung of noble, to be sure, and Sir Grayson would expect her to be at his beck and call, which she had no intention of doing. But it would get her out of Luskan hands.

_And then?_ she wondered. There would still be a trial, and if there were so-called witnesses to the slaughter, even Casavir's testimony might not be enough to prove her innocence. On top of that, even if she managed to escape the Neverwinter court of law unscathed, there was still someone in Luskan out for her head – someone who probably would not be stopped by something as frivolous as the outcome of a trial.

There was also still a warlock after the shards of the silver sword. Despite her words of bravado back at the Flagon, she felt uneasy about having this unknown quantity at her back. At least the githyanki's motivations had been obvious. What the warlock wanted with the sword shards was anyone's guess.

All in all, it looked like her troubles had no intentions of ending any time soon.

She wished she was better prepared to meet all these challenges. If she had been magically inclined, she probably would have locked herself in Sand's shop and practiced summonings and destruction until her wrists were sore. But as it was…

She stared down at her sword, laying across her thighs in its sheath. It was probably in her best interest to take up lessons with Cormick again. Still, the marshal had once admitted himself that his teachings would be of limited use to her. He had made her better, this much was true, but she had a feeling they were coming up to the limits of his teaching ability when it came to her particular needs. She needed a better teacher. She also had no clue where to find one.

Her contemplations were interrupted by something. Her senses reported that there was someone, or something, in the vicinity long before she could have pinned down one strange noise or moving shadow.

Her hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword slowly, and she raised it while standing up and trying to determine what direction danger was coming from.

"I hope you don't plan on using me for practice," said a voice off to her right. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be much of a challenge."

She lowered her sword if only to properly stare at the woman who was emerging from between the trees.

"Evening, Shandra," she greeted, trying not to show her surprise.

The blond woman had apparently used her time for some rest and a bath as well. Her hair was shiny, clean and no longer tangled, and she wore a clean pair of woman's breeches, a shirt and sturdy new boots beneath a cloak slightly too large for her. The bruises on her face were barely visible in the low light.

She also had a short sword strapped to her side, which was enough to make Brianna arch an eyebrow.

Shandra noticed her look.

"It would be a bit stupid of me to keep wandering around unarmed, after everything that happened, wouldn't it?" she asked.

Brianna couldn't help but agree. It was certainly an improvement for Shandra not to keep wanting to play damsel in distress any longer.

"Do you know how to use it?" she asked and tried to keep the skepticism out of her voice, for politeness' sake.

The other woman shrugged. "A little. I've had a few opportunities to practice, defending the farm from lizardfolk and such, but I'm nowhere near as good as you."

"Hm," Brianna said, and then for lack of anything better to do, invited Shandra to sit with a gesture of her hand. Under other circumstances, she might have minded the woman seeking her out, but the Vigil was so boring she was not about to object to any conversation that wasn't with Sir Grayson.

"I came because I wanted to talk to you," Shandra stated the obvious. "I never properly thanked you, I suppose, for helping me out and going through all that trouble to get me away from these monsters."

Brianna bit her tongue to keep from blurting out that she had not had much of a choice in the matter, Shandra being her only lead to the mystery of the shards. She doubted the woman would appreciate it. Better to let her think she was in Brianna's debt from a selfless rescue.

"And then, well, I suppose I was wondering about what happens next. I know you have your own problems, with the accusations of murder and all, but it is like you said, there is someone else who is working against you in search for those shards. And he might find me eventually. Or you. And I know you don't much like me slowing you down, but if I start training more seriously with this thing, I think I might be able to hold my own."

Shandra took a deep breath after the words tumbled out of her mouth. "So I think it would be best if we just stuck together. I'll try to help as much as I can. And in return, I'm not alone the next time someone shows up to kidnap me. What do you think?"

Brianna frowned as she considered the proposal.

"You want me to follow you around like some kind of bodyguard?"

"More like the other way round," Shandra corrected. "I'll follow _you_ around."

The offer wasn't half stupid. She would need Shandra's cooperation anyway, if she decided to try and find Ammon Jerro's haven after the trial was over and done with. The only thing she had mixed feelings about was having to act as Shandra's protector. She appreciated companions such as Casavir because he was wiling to serve as _her_ protector – he threw himself in between Brianna and whatever was coming after her, when necessary. She did not relish the thought of being expected to fulfill that role for Shandra. She didn't see why she should.

"I can see to it that you're properly trained," she eventually agreed with a sigh. "We'll get you some decent armor, and if you'd like to follow me around, that's alright. But I won't pitch a fit every time someone looks at you a little funny. I have enough to worry about on my own."

"I can live with that," Shandra nodded.

In a way, Brianna appreciated the woman's willingness to work with what she had been given. Shandra had been caught up in events much like Brianna had, and where she herself had sought out the Watch to help her, Shandra had now sought out Brianna. She knew what it was like to have enemies and not want to wait around idly for them to show.

"Good," she said with finality.

Neither of them said anything more for some time. Shandra moved her sword onto her lap, mirroring Brianna, and they both stared into the darkness of the glade, their breath misting in the frigid air.

"Your uncle is nice," Shandra then breached a topic so random that Brianna nearly laughed.

"He can be," she replied.

"Are you still upset with him? For not telling you about that shard?"

"Yes," she replied simply, trying her hardest not to let those feelings of betrayal well to the surface again.

"He was trying to protect you, you know," Shandra said the obvious, and stupid, thing.

Brianna pressed her lips together and looked directly at the other woman.

"And look how well that worked out," she pointed out. "I don't need his damn protection, I need to know all I can about what I might be facing. He should have told me about this as soon as I showed up in Neverwinter asking about the shards."

"And what would you have done differently, had you known?"

She frowned, and then glowered at the other woman when no answer sprung readily to mind.

The sound of several pairs of boots as they crossed the soggy ground saved her the admission that she did not know. She held her sword ready as she turned in the direction she thought the steps were coming from, and after several seconds she could make out movement on the other side of the fire.

"Watch my back," she hissed at Shandra, who had raised her sword as well. She had long since learned the lesson that just because she knew there was a potential attacker in front of her did not mean there wasn't one already at her back, too. It was what she would have done, if she was planning on taking someone out.

The woman dutifully spun around, allowing Brianna to focus fully on the three people that were walking towards her.

They were all male, probably in their twenties or thirties, armed to the teeth and armored as well. She had never seen any of them before.

"You are interrupting my knightly contemplations," she greeted them as they came closer.

_Keep them talking for a bit. Try to get the measure of them._

"Mouthy little bird, aren't you?" the one in the middle asked.

"Yep," she replied, and narrowed her eyes at him.

He was a fairly nondescript fellow, with hair gleaming dark golden in the firelight. She was not able to make out any features of note from where she was standing. The one to the first man's left, however, stood out a lot more. He clearly had orc blood in him, his roughly human features marred by a pair of tusks. His frame was bulky, and he carried his heavy-looking mace with ease.

The third man was wearing a hood, but she glimpsed a patch of facial hair framing thin lips. It was him who replied to the first one's statement.

"Don't let her get to you."

They weren't using names, and they did not seem to want to make this personal. Not your random band of brigands out to take advantage of a couple of girls, then. They were overconfident though, stepping out into the open for her to see them instead of striking at her while she was off her guard.

"There was only supposed to be one," the half-orc slurred, causing the hooded man to hiss with irritation.

And they had been informed of her being here.

"I suppose I should be honored," she said, suddenly fighting to keep her voice steady as she put together the pieces. "Three whole Luskan assassins, coming here just for poor little me."

She felt Shandra tense at her back. The woman was still dutifully looking out in the other direction, but now that she had heard whom they were facing, she was getting nervous.

Brianna tried to think clearly while her left hand crawled beneath her cloak. Three fighters on their side, one and a half on hers. The half-orc was bound to be strong, but slow. She had learned to fight that type of opponent fairly effectively, but it would leave Shandra to face two men who were probably quite able. The woman wouldn't last ten seconds.

"Oh, you should feel honored well enough," the dark blond man assured her. "But do it after you're dead, if you please."

She was too far away to land an effective first strike. They would have plenty of time to block her swing. That didn't mean she was about to play fair, however.

Silver glinted in the firelight as she raised her left arm from under her cloak and threw.

She had never quite gotten the hang of throwing knives the way Neeshka did it, and the concealed dagger she still wore out of habit more than anything was not an ideal throwing weapon. She did not need to hit, however.

She just needed the half-orc to be distracted for as long as it took her to kick ashes and bits of burning firewood at his companions, make her way over to him and find a way through his armor.

Howls of fury from the two men she had temporarily blinded accompanied her charge. As she had predicted, the half-orc was slow, and while he still stupidly stared after the dagger, her sword had drawn blood on his shoulder.

Shandra yelped behind her, indicating that at least one of the two other assassins had engaged her. Brianna had hoped to be able to finish her opponent of choice quickly by disabling his weapon arm, but he would not play by her rules. Instead of attempting to raise the mace with his wounded shoulder, he dropped the heavy weapon and tackled her.

Only at the last second did she manage to jump mostly out of the way. He still clipped her side and send her sprawling, and her sword flew out of her hand during the tumble. By the time she had cleared her head, the hooded man was looming over her, trying to take advantage of her fall. He'd raised his axe in a swing that left him exposed, but would probably kill her, if it hit.

She tensed and waited for the right moment to roll out of the way. He obviously thought her prone and dazed. If she moved to early, he would simple adjust the direction of his blow, and if she moved too late, she would be dead.

_Now_, she thought as his arc crested, and just as she put all of her strength into an explosive sideways roll, the hooded man's body jerked in a way that made her realize something had changed in the fight.

She evaded the half-orc's charge yet again before she was able to glance back at her would-be killer, who had sunken to his knees. Vines, shooting out of the ground, had wrapped themselves tightly around the assassin's legs up to his thighs, forcing him down. As she watched, the plants crawled up higher on his torso, and the bolt from a crossbow soared past his face and made him flinch. Brianna blinked once, resolved to puzzle it out later, and moved to pick up her weapon and engage the half-orc again without being crushed in the process.

She was careful to keep enough distance between him and herself so she would not be tackled to the ground, and to watch the way his muscles moved and tensed. When he charged at her once again, she was ready. Her sword might not have been able to cut through the scale armor that was protecting the orc, but he had neglected to wear a helmet. Flesh and bone were no problem for the magically enhanced sharpness of her weapon. With his head down so far, he had no way of seeing the swing coming that sliced the side of his throat wide open.

When he groaned and stumbled, she led the tip of her sword through a gap below his knee guard and made sure he would stay down when he fell.

After that, she took a moment to catch her breath and look around. The assassin tangled in the vines had slumped forward. The plant tendrils had wrapped around his throat and crushed his windpipe.

Miraculously, Shandra was not only still standing, but had actually managed to hold her own quite effectively against the third assassin. The reason for that was likely to be the large amount of blood running down the side of the blond man's face from a nasty-looking wound by his temple, as well as the dart lodged in his ear. His dark eyes were wide in what were probably about equal amounts of fear and pain.

Shandra seemed a bit spooked by the help out of nowhere the had gotten, eying the vines repeatedly and making sure to stay out of their reach. The woman did enough to hold her preoccupied opponent at bay, however, and Brianna hurried over to flank him. She had raised her blade and taken a defensive stance when he spun around to face her, and when he retreated reflexively following her first counter, she saw his entire body jerk and his eyes go even wider.

Shandra pulled her sword away, scraping metal against the edge in the assassin's armor as she went. Her blade gleamed dark with blood.

Brianna turned away as not to have to watch the man's death up close. Shandra followed her, and as they heard the dull impact of a dying body hitting the ground, the woman spoke.

"What in the hells was that all about?"

Brianna shrugged.

"Luskan killers," she said more calmly than she felt. Her heart was racing, beating hard against her chest. She was shaking with anger. As though by a miracle, neither she nor Shandra had come away from this ambush with anything more than bruises, but that had not been thanks to any foresight on her part.

_Alone, at night, outside Neverwinter walls. How could I not figure out that they would be likely to have a go at me in this situation? Stupid. I'm lucky that they were stupid, too._

"That isn't what I meant. What were these… things?"

"Plants," Brianna growled, and spun around, searching the darkness for the only person she knew who could turn shrubbery into death traps.

"I am right here," Elanee said primly from behind her.

The four simple words sent a surge of anger through Brianna. She found herself completing her turn and marching towards the druidess, hands balled to fists, ignoring Shandra's shout of surprise. She might have actually struck the woman if not for the second figure that came sidling out from between the trees at that very moment.

"Neesh?" Brianna asked, halting mid-step.

"Yeah. Hey." The tiefling, still carrying her crossbow loaded, came close enough for Brianna to be able to see the guilty look on her face. "Sorry about that. I know she's annoying, but I needed her to find this place."

"I am standing right here, you know." Elanee pointed out stiffly. "I can hear you."

Neeshka flashed the druidess a bright smile. "Excellent. Means your hearing's working."

"What in the hells are you doing here?" Brianna wanted to know, even though she had a pretty good idea of what the answer might be.

"Come on now. You, alone at night, outside Neverwinter walls." The tiefling tilted her head meaningfully, and Brianna suppressed a wince as she heard her own thoughts reflected in the tiefling's words. "That's a great opportunity for anyone wanting you dead to get it done. I'm just surprised they sent so few, actually."

"It was supposed to be just me," Brianna pointed out. "I couldn't have taken on these three by myself."

She swallowed hard. It still hurt to admit she had been so careless. She should have known better.

"Four, actually," Neeshka corrected her. "There's another half-orc back there that never made it past the tree I was hiding behind."

The dull feeling like Brianna had just received several light blows in the general vicinity of her stomach increased. Four men. Without Neeshka, she'd be a bloody splatter on the ground right now, and Shandra probably would have joined her in her fate.

She still was not ready, not prepared enough for trouble. Something had to give, and soon.

"Anyway," she said, shaking off the thought for the moment. She would have the rest of the night to brood about it. "I appreciate you being here, Neesh. Thank you."

A grin crawled across the tiefling's face. "Hey, no problem. It'd be far too boring without you around."

Brianna turned to Elanee with reluctance.

"You, on the other hand…"

"Just saved your life," Elanee had the audacity to finish her sentence, and look arrogantly unimpressed while doing it.

"That's the only reason I haven't put my sword through your belly yet," Brianna spat with a viciousness that caused Shandra to retreat a step. "And I suggest you get the hells out of here before I do."

"Whoa!" Neeshka's eyes darted from one of them to the other and back, her expression indicating that she was a bit lost. "What did she do _now_?"

"I've done nothing to anger you," the druidess replied in Brianna's direction, and even though Elanee was still infuriatingly calm, she had paled a little.

"Yeah," Brianna replied, "Except I found out recently that there was yet another little thing you never told me anything about. I was a fool not to figure it out much sooner, when you first told me you were watching me even before West Harbor was attacked. You said it yourself, you were following the shards all along."

"Wait, she _knew_ about that? About the shard in your chest?" Neeshka's eyes flared with anger, and she reacted by training her crossbow on the druidess and causing Elanee to retreat several steps. Then she lowered the weapon again.

"I need her to find the way back," she excused herself lamely.

"Well, she can lead you back then, and once you know the way she had better get off her meddling, lying ass and…"

"Not to interrupt, but aren't you being a bit harsh?" Shandra interjected.

"No." Brianna was still staring daggers at the druidess, her fingers tight around the hilt of her sword. "I'm not."

"Oh." Shandra seemed lost for words. "Uh, okay."

"I see there is no talking to you tonight," Elanee sighed. "I will take my leave then, and hope you are in a better mood when we next speak."

Brianna had no good comeback ready, so she simply glared until the woman turned away, the look on her face as disapproving as always, and vanished in the darkness.

"I don't understand her," Neeshka remarked, somewhat dismissively. "She seems incapable of… of…"

"Of not being a condescending, grating bitch?" Brianna offered.

"Maybe," agreed the tiefling. Brianna watched as she crouched low and begun the task of patting down the bodies. Shandra, apparently looking for something to do, went to rebuild the fire that was on the verge of going out entirely.

"Gold," Neeshka exclaimed happily, and tossed a coin into the air. "Not that we really need it, after all those gems and things that ugly gith Zeeaire had on her. But hey, when does one ever _not_ need more gold, huh? Oh, and he's wearing a ring, if you care. Doesn't look too valuable."

Brianna crouched down and squinted at the dead man's hand, which Neeshka had helpfully raised up for her. The details of the dull metal band weren't easy to identify in the dark.

"It looks pretty distinctive," she finally determined. "An odd pattern of spikes. Do you think it could help us find out who sent them? This 'Master of the Fifth Tower', maybe?"

"I could try to ask a few questions, see what I can find out," Neeshka offered.

Brianna knew how difficult it was for the tiefling to do business with her old contacts, given that her former mentor Leldon was still looking to hurt her, and likely to try if he found her meddling. She appreciated Neeshka taking the risk.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"Uh-huh," Neeshka grunted as she attempted to wrest the ring from the corpse's finger. After several unsuccessful attempts, the tiefling spat onto the metal band to loosen it, and placed her boots against the dead man's ribs to keep the body in place as she pulled.

"Now what?" Shandra asked, just as Neeshka finally raised her fist with a triumphant expression.

"Now I'm going to spend the night trying to make it look as though I just killed four assassins all by myself," Brianna replied with a sigh, and went to find her dagger before she forgot about it. She was sore and exhausted, and it was making her cranky, especially knowing she would have to brave the cold for the rest of the night. "I'm not supposed to have any company tonight, remember?"

"Oh," Shandra said, frowned, then nodded. "We'll have to leave too, then."

"Hope you know the way," Neeshka muttered.

"You can't be here if he comes to check on me," Brianna told them with some regret. Company would have made the night more pleasant, but had no desire to take any more risks than she had to when it came to escaping low justice. She found her dagger when she stepped on it, then wiped the handle on her cloak. "I doubt they'll make another attempt so soon."

"Have a good night, then." Shandra did not look convinced, but she picked up her sword and, after giving the glade a skeptical look, stepped into the trees not far from where Elanee had vanished.

"Don't get killed, alright?" Neeshka added, and hurried after Shandra.

"Yeah, I'll try," Brianna sighed.

Then she got settled to spend the night in the company of a group of corpses.

* * *

There were two resolutions Brianna made during the night of her Vigil. Both of them she carried out the very next day, after the declaration of her new status had been made, after she had had the pleasure of watching the Luskan ambassador, Torio Claven, throw a seething fit of rage in the middle of Castle Never's luxurious diplomat suite. It had been a sight to behold, with Captain Brelaina, who had accompanied her to the hearing, smiling behind her hand, and even Sir Grayson struggling to maintain proper decorum.

First, she paid a visit to Sand and borrowed a large stack of his books on Neverwinter law. The wizard promptly used the opportunity to arrange for twice-weekly meetings to get the facts of the case sorted and prepare a suitable defense. Brianna didn't mind. With her suspension from the Watch still active – though at least Brelaina had insisted on paying her for the inconvenience – she was bound to have plenty of time to do research with Sand.

Immediately afterwards, she went to talk to Bishop.

The ranger was sitting in his usual spot in the darkest corner of the taproom, nursing an early afternoon ale and staring darkly at the wall. He seemed to be putting a lot of effort into trying to keep people away, which was exactly the reason why Brianna dropped onto the chair opposite him with the biggest smile she could muster stamped onto her face.

"Afternoon," she said cheerfully.

"Yes. It is." He glared at her. "What do you want?"

She pointedly ignored the usual dose of hostility he threw into the question. Being around the man for several days in a row had taught her not to take it personally. Instead, she propped her chin onto her fist and kept her eyes fixed on him.

"I have an offer for you," she laid out.

He met her gaze squarely.

"Not interested."

She produced a tiny diamond in the palm of her hand, one of the many gems Neeshka had taken from Zeeaire's corpse and split with her. The Sword Stalker had likely used them as spell components, to enhance whatever magic she had used. Brianna had much simpler intentions.

"I'll pay."

Something changed in his eyes then, and she witnessed it with grim satisfaction.

"Alright," he amended his answer, and took a swig of ale. "Maybe interested."

She took a deep breath and prepared to say the words. It was ridiculously difficult to get them out.

"I want you to teach me how to fight."

He slowly lowered his ale then, staring at her in a way she couldn't begin to interpret.

"What?" he asked tonelessly.

She lowered her eyes to stare at the small gem she was turning nervously between thumb and forefinger.

"Cormick is running out of things to teach me. He's best with heavy weapons, with brute force. I saw you against Zeeaire. You're quicker than anyone else I know with a sword. You know how to fight dirty. You know how to wield two weapons at once, and you're good at it. I've got half of Luskan coming after me, and if I don't make massive changes in the way I fight, I've got no chance."

When she looked up, he had crossed his arms before his chest and was regarding her with absolutely no expression on his face.

She waited.

"You're mental," he said eventually.

"Probably," she agreed, and tipped her hand just enough for the diamond to roll onto the table, coming to a rest between them. "One of these a week."

After a few more seconds spent in silence, he reached for the stone and pocketed it.

And that was that.


	43. Winter

**Winter**

The cold and snow took up residence in Neverwinter over the next few weeks, belying the city's name. Granted, it was still not as cold as one would ordinarily expect, so far north, and the fine dustings of white never stayed for longer than a day or so at a time, but snowmelt soaking her boots every time she ventured outside was still an inconvenience Brianna could have done without. But even with the threat of the trial looming over her, and with the Luskan accusations keeping her confined to within Neverwinter's walls, she was surprised to find herself enjoying her time in the city.

The stack of firewood in her room and the crackling of the flames had become a permanent fixture. She relished the warmth, and she spent every free moment curled up in her bed, reading her way through Sand's stack of books. The subject matter was dry as dust, but she forced herself through page after page, taking notes as she went.

In the mornings, she often accompanied Shandra to meet with Cormick, and together they trained the former farm girl how to fight. Brianna found herself reviewing her own techniques and catching mistakes she herself was making whenever Cormick explained something new to the other woman.

After that, she spent several hours on what basically amounted to being beaten up by Bishop.

Sparring with Shandra and Cormick, she could hold her own quite well. With the ranger, she felt like a bloody beginner all over again. Bishop executed moves she had never even seen before and used every dirty trick in the book against her. He made her sweat, stumble and curse, and he pushed her until she broke and lashed out at him any way she could if only to make him shut the hells up and leave her alone. She collected a few nasty bruises that way, when he took advantage of her losing her temper and forgetting her defense, and smacked an unprotected part of her body with the broad side of his sword. She was certain he took pleasure in doing it, too.

He never offered praise, or even begrudging acknowledgment. The most she could hope for while training with him was a feeling of satisfaction after she managed to block several of his aggressive attacks in a row, or the rare surge of triumph if she actually succeeded in executing a move flawlessly, gaining the upper hand against him for a fraction of a second. Else there was just his near-constant sneer, and the look of derision in his eyes.

She hated every minute of it, but she could _feel_ herself getting better.

In the afternoon, she either met with Sand and discussed the impending trial, or she ventured out to visit markets and shops with Neeshka. As it turned out, the tiefling was excellent at bartering.

Brianna upgraded her equipment bit by bit. She placed an order for a new leather armor, tailored to her body, decided to replace her old dented crossbow with a lighter model, made of Zalantar wood, restocked on potions and even let herself be talked into purchasing a number of baubles and fanciful things she had no immediate use for. A small, jewel-studded comb was among them, and an embroidered silk tunic of forest green and gold.

"Really brings out your eyes," Neeshka had decided, and shoved the garment into Brianna's arms. "It's a steal. Buy it."

And she had. With the gems, gold and magical weapons they had found in the githyanki lair boosting her coinpurse, and her Watch salary still trickling in, she could afford a few nice things she would never even have looked at before, despite the drain of paying Bishop week for week.

In the evenings, she continued a habit she had started at Old Owl Well, doing drills with her weapons and pushing herself past the point of exhaustion. She slept well, thanks to this practice. Occasionally she found herself in a social enough mood to join Khelgar for a pint, or to chat with Casavir and Shandra. More often than not, though, she fell asleep in the taproom and had to be helped to bed by her uncle.

Time passed quickly. One day, she was returning with Neeshka from one of their shopping and sightseeing excursions to find the Sunken Flagon's paneled windows alight with colorful floating spheres.

"Please tell me Qara blew herself to pieces and this is all that's left of her," Brianna muttered as she stared in confusion.

"I wouldn't expect her remains to look quite this pretty," Neeshka replied practically. Together, they peered through the doors.

The entire taproom had been decorated with witchlights, shimmering in all colors of the rainbow, floating just below the ceiling and spreading a rather festive atmosphere throughout the tavern. Sand was standing by the bar and lazily waved a hand, directing a few more lights of purple and scarlet to join those already in place.

He was not the only one in the room. In fact, the place was rather packed. Brianna spotted Cormick lounging on a chair, chatting with Shandra amidst a small crowd of people, which included some of the greycloaks from Old Owl Well, while Grobnar appeared to be tuning his lute nearby.

A small hand pushed her into the room. She turned and glared at Neeshka, who was grinning broadly, and then Duncan turned away from whatever he'd been working on at the bar, and spotted her.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, rather more loudly than strictly necessary. "Happy birthday, lass!"

"I… what?" she asked stupidly, while he hurried to embrace her.

"Birthday," he replied when he had already clamped his arms around her shoulders. "You didn't expect me to just ignore it, did you? That's one day your uncle Duncan isn't going to forget."

"Daeghun never celebrated it," she managed to explain weakly. Then he let her go, frowning at her words, but she already found herself caught in the next embrace. This one was Cormick's, who held her just a bit longer than would have been proper.

"Happy birthday," the marshal told her hoarsely after kissing her cheek. He smiled down at her, and passed her to Casavir.

Not until Captain Brelaina herself stepped out of the shadows and shook her hands did Brianna understand that Duncan had, in fact, invited everyone who knew her and didn't actively mean her harm to celebrate this night. She found herself intimidated by the number of smiling faces offering congratulations. It was all quite bizarre. Even Sand offered a quick, awkward embrace and looked to be regretting the act almost immediately.

Duncan had procured cake from somewhere. The chocolate and berry creation was cut and served by Qara, whose thin smile was so rigidly fixed on her face that Brianna would have been willing to wager Duncan had threatened the sorceress with physical harm if she dared ruin this occasion.

Brianna turned to Neeshka, who was busy giggling with excitement.

"You were in on this," she accused. The tiefling, still grinning broadly, nodded and led her to a table.

Over cake and a tankard of Duncan's best ale, Brianna found herself relaxing. She had never particularly enjoyed being the center of attention, and Duncan's surprise party had not helped that fact, but with everyone talking amongst themselves and not paying her any special attention, the celebration was bearable, and actually kind of… nice.

It was probably just the fact that she was not used to birthday celebrations, she contemplated with a mouthful of cake. Her own had never been acknowledged, and others she had stayed away from back in West Harbor, hiding instead in her room and reading.

Her relaxation lasted until Duncan pushed a wrapped parcel towards her, just as she was leading her fork to her mouth again, finishing her second helping of cake.

"What's this?" she wanted to know, lowering the bite she had been about to enjoy.

"Your gift, lass. Unwrap it."

"Oh," she said. Her hands reached for the bundle, and she felt watched by uncomfortably many eyes as she unfolded the brown paper and discovered it to be hiding a brand new, fur-lined cloak.

"You're always cold," Duncan said gruffly by way of explanation. She stared up at him, trying to figure out what might be the proper thing to say as she held the expensive gift in her hands, and he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"It's nothing, lass. Just thought you might need it, that's all."

Then Captain Brelaina stepped closer and handed her a parcel wrapped in white cloth, with a dark blue bow on top, that turned out to hide a book on the history of Neverwinter. Khelgar shoved a box at her that contained boots, fur-lined as well, and Casavir had gotten her the matching pair of gloves. Neeshka pressed a pouch filled with jewelry into her hands. Everyone was lining up to give her _something_. Brianna stared at each gift, her tongue in a heavy knot.

When Grobnar prepared to play the song he had composed for the occasion, she excused herself and stepped outside, where darkness had fallen in the meantime. It was all a bit much, a bit excessive in there.

She leaned her head against one of the wooden pillars supporting the awning above the steps. The ale was getting to her head a little, making her feel numb. Duncan had meant well, she knew, and so had Neeshka. She just didn't know how to handle the situation

Her breath escaped her mouth in a thick white cloud. Her cheeks were cold, and she pressed the palms of her hands to them to warm them up. Startled, she realized that there were wet streaks on her face. She hadn't been aware she was crying. A blessing that was, too, since she would have felt even more self-conscious otherwise. Hastily, she wiped the remains of moisture away with the back of her hand.

She tried to turn away when she heard steps crunching in the fresh snow, but Bishop's snort told her he had already seen her face.

"That terrible, eh?" he asked as he came closer, the wolf on his heels a grey shadow against the snow. There was no sympathy whatsoever in his voice.

She shrugged, for lack of a better answer.

"If it makes you feel better," he said, reaching out to put his hand on the door, "I didn't get you anything."

Surprisingly enough, it did make her feel better. At least someone around here was acting as expected.

"You could just give me my amulet back," she proposed in a fit of what was either inspiration or desperation.

He frowned, looking at her for a moment, before drawing back his arm and reaching beneath his collar. The delicate golden charm was dangling from his fingers a moment later.

"This thing?" he asked.

She felt strangely violated to see him actually wearing it. It had been hers, after all, given to her in friendship, and until now she had for some reason pictured it in his pocket, solely in its function as collateral for the ranger's dagger.

"Yes, that," she confirmed for him.

"No," he said, and dropped it back beneath his shirt.

She sighed, exhaling a stream of rapidly fogging breath, and tried not to let him get to her.

"You're a class act, Bishop. You really are."

Neeshka burst through the door at this moment, only to stop abruptly in her step and regard Brianna and the ranger.

"He's not _bothering_ you, is he?" she asked a little shrilly.

Brianna's mouth curled up in a slight humorless smile.

"Nah," she said. "Just being his usual pleasant self."

"Good." The tiefling narrowed her eyes. "Because if I catch you so much as looking at her funny, or… or doing any inappropriate touching…"

Bishop laughed. It was a startling sound, in that Brianna had never actually heard him laugh before.

It occurred to her that the ranger was probably a little drunk.

"Your concern is heart-rending, little goat," he said, "though it seems to me that the swamp vixen could probably do with a little inappropriate touching."

Brianna crossed her arms and glared, but was surprised to discover Neeshka calmly scratching one of her horns.

"Well, that's true," the tiefling said thoughtfully.

"Neesh," Brianna hissed.

The tiefling frowned. "What? I'm not saying… oh hells, not _him_!" She gestured wildly at the ranger. "But you never really relax, and… have you ever been to the Moonstone Mask?"

"The what?" she asked, frowning. She had heard the name before, but only in passing.

"The Moonstone Mask," the ranger and the tiefling said together.

"You've never even heard of it?" Neeshka asked incredulously.

"Take her there. Now," Bishop commanded. "Before the gnome starts on his birthday song." He seemed to find the entire exchange hilarious.

"Not until you tell me…" Brianna started, but by then she had already been grasped by both arms and found herself dragged through the snow and away from the celebrations by a pair of very unlikely accomplices.


	44. Ribbons

**Ribbons**

The Moonstone Mask was located in the merchant district, hidden well enough in the maze of Neverwinter's streets and alleys that one had to know it was there in order to find it. The building itself was unremarkable, and only the small metal sign on the solid oak door depicting a dancer's mask and the music and laughter wafting from the lighted windows hinted that this was not a proper Neverwinter merchant's residence.

All pretense was stripped away once one set foot inside. Brianna found herself surrounded by sudden luxury, from the expansive knotted carpets covering the floor to the wall hangings and golden chandeliers. Delicate chairs and tables set up in groupings of eights and fours dotted the large room, most of them occupied and carrying food and drink that looked better than anything Duncan served at the Flagon. There were two bards entertaining near the fireplace, one plucking a lute, the other playing a wooden flute. A very pretty girl danced to the tune, her dark hair flashing copper in the firelight. All throughout the large room, people were socializing and chatting animatedly.

Brianna craned her neck to take it all in. Neeshka, meanwhile, had shrugged out of her cloak and stepped over to the young woman in an expensive-looking ruffled silk dress who seemed to be keeping watch over the entrance. The tiefling was counting out a surprisingly large number of coins.

"Should cover the both of us nicely," she said in Brianna's direction before fixating Bishop with a glare. "I am not paying _your_ cover."

The ranger shrugged and reached for his own coinpurse.

The young woman had meanwhile stepped forward to take their money, looking down her delicate nose at their apparel. It occurred to Brianna that they _were_ looking a little out of place, she in her travel-stained tunic and old, chafed boots, Bishop even in his armor and Neeshka with her knives quite visibly in her belt.

"No weapons," the girl announced in a honeyed voice, and pursed her full lips.

Neeshka simply undid her entire belt and handed it over. Brianna did the same with her concealed dagger in its sheath. Bishop tossed his bow, quiver and sword onto a nearby table, but Brianna would have been willing to bet he still had a dagger hidden somewhere on his person.

"This is a brothel, isn't it?" Brianna asked as they were finally allowed into the room proper. There were too large a number of young, pretty girls around for it not to be so. Many of them wore a small ornamental pin plainly visible at their neckline.

"Shhh." Neeshka elbowed her in the ribs. "Ophala doesn't like that word."

"Who the hells is Ophala?"

"Old friend of mine. Owns this place."

"Figures," Brianna muttered. "So now what do we do?"

Neeshka scrutinized the rest of the establishment's patrons as she pulled Brianna to a table. "Now we find you a man." The tiefling paused, then frowned, and looked Brianna over thoroughly. "Or how about a woman?"

"How about neither?" Brianna suggested hopefully.

"How about you shut up," the ranger snarled.

"Oh, that's a great idea." Neeshka rolled her eyes. "Bully her into it, why don't you?"

"Since you aren't doing it," he replied without missing a beat.

Brianna sank onto a chair and pinched herself in order to wake up from this bizarre fever dream. All she accomplished was to give herself yet another bruise on her forearm.

When she blinked, Neeshka was sitting beside her and was gently grasping one of her hands.

"Bree," the tiefling said with a note of tenderness in her voice. "You need this. Just trust me, alright? You can always say no, later."

Brianna raised her eyes to the tiefling's dark red ones. She knew Neeshka meant well.

And maybe she had a point.

"Can you make Bishop go away?" she asked hopefully. If she was going to let this happen, she would be damned if she allowed the ranger to witness even the slightest bit of it.

Neeshka's lips curled up into a smile as she glanced past Brianna. "Pretty sure that won't be a problem," she said dryly, causing Brianna to turn her head.

A girl in a deep blue silk dress had approached the ranger. She was saying something in a low voice, and tossed her silvery blond curls behind her shoulder as she smiled, placing a pale hand on his grimy armor in a gesture that struck Brianna as strangely intimate. When Bishop scrutinized the girl with a critical eye and eventually reached out for her in turn, Brianna abruptly looked away.

"I don't want to see this," she confided in Neeshka. "It's a little too bizarre."

"I don't think they'll be doing in in the common room," said the tiefling sensibly. "But let's get back to the point. What's your poison?"

"What?"

"What do you _like_," Neeshka emphasized. "In a man. Woman. Whatever."

"Whatever," Brianna echoed. "Hells Neesh, I don't know." She was overconscious of the heat in her cheeks, and kept her head low.

"Haven't you ever been in love? What did he look like?"

Brianna sighed and pressed a cool hand to her forehead. "No," she said hoarsely. "I really… I haven't, alright?"

"Hm." Neeshka pursed her lips. "That makes things a little tricky. Do you like half-elves?"

"What?" she croaked. _Duncan_ was half-elven. She did not care to get intimate with anyone resembling her uncle even in the slightest.

"What about him?" Neeshka pointed. "If you don't want him, I'll take him."

Brianna turned to look. The ranger had vanished, thank the gods, and her view was now unobstructed to the other side of the room, where a man had just come down the carpeted stairs.

She supposed most other women might have found him attractive. His face offset a strong nose. His hair gleamed golden in the light, competing with the embroidery on his tunic. His skin was just dark enough to emphasize his blue eyes. Sensual lips were curved in an inviting smile.

Something about him reminded her of Wyl.

Maybe it was the surety with which he moved, or the way his hair fell nearly into his eyes. She couldn't stand looking at him any longer and turned away abruptly as her stomach lurched. Mutely, she shook her head.

"Damn," Neeshka whispered, frowning. "Bree, you've gone all pale. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she croaked with some effort. Her eyes searched the room, desperate to find some other sight to rest on, and finally settled on a man sitting near the bards by the fireplace. His sight was strangely calming, maybe because he did not appear to be trying to appeal. In fact, he seemed absorbed in the music more than anything.

"You like him better?" Neeshka had followed her gaze. "Looks a little like the paladin, doesn't he?"

She flinched when Brianna turned to give the tiefling an incredulous stare. "Oh, damn. I just ruined it, didn't I?"

A passing serving girl set down several glasses filled with red wine at their table, and Brianna desperately reached for one. By the time she drew breath, the glass was half-empty. It was very sweet wine, its taste heavy on her tongue.

"Neesh," she said in between breaths, "this wasn't your best idea."

"The ranger is not going to be the only one getting laid tonight," the tiefling replied stubbornly, putting emphasis on every single word. "And you're freaking out. Close your eyes and take some deep breaths."

She drained the rest of the wine and obeyed. The blood was still rushing through her head, probably making her cheeks glow like magefire.

_This is awkward, humiliating, and I want out of here. _

When she blinked her eyes open, Neeshka was gone. A moment later, someone dropped into the unoccupied chair.

It was the man from the fireplace.

She stared. He did look a bit like Casavir, although lacking the paladin's piercing blue eyes. His, fixed on her, were of a simple dull hazel instead. He was also much younger. His aristocratically pale skin stood in stark contrast to his black hair, though his cheeks had a healthy glow. He wore the silver pin on his collar that, she assumed, marked him as an employee of the Moonstone Mask.

"Hello," he said.

"That chair's taken," she pointed out numbly. She didn't care how rude she was. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

He frowned.

"Your friend didn't seem to think so," he pointed out.

Brianna turned and spotted Neeshka on the opposite side of the room. Her friend was talking animatedly to the man she had pointed out earlier. Her tiefling tail was curling and uncurling eagerly around her leg.

"Great," Brianna muttered bitterly.

The man across from her was still frowning. His eyes studied her face.

"Am I right in the assumption that you don't particularly care to be here?" he asked delicately.

"Completely," she confirmed, and reached for the next glass of wine.

"So why are you?"

She found herself taken aback by the bluntness.

"Well," she started, mulling it over. "My friend there decided that I was in need of, ah, company."

"And are you?"

"No," she said emphatically.

"Alright," he said, and reached for a wineglass himself. "I won't press the issue then."

"You won't?" she asked suspiciously.

"No. I'll stay and talk, though, if you don't mind."

"I mind." She glared at him and was satisfied to register the surprise in his eyes. "You'll stay and talk, and then you'll try to kiss me and I won't react in time to get away, and you'll think that's a yes, and then… and then…"

Her tongue stopped obeying her and very nearly tied itself in a knot. She stared at him, helplessly.

On one hand, she didn't really believe he would do what Cormick had done. On the other hand, she didn't know him, and such goings-on were what this place did business with, after all.

"I don't think you quite understand what the Moonstone Mask sells." He seemed to have guessed her thoughts, and managed to say this without sounding condescending, which was actually quite an impressive feat.

"Sex," she replied bluntly.

"Company," he corrected her. "Entertainment. Enjoyment." He tipped his head. "Privacy."

"Same thing with a pretty ribbon on it."

His lips formed the slightest of smiles. "Some people just come here for the ribbon."

She regarded him in silence for several heartbeats.

"Nobody here will force you into anything," he put forward.

She sighed and sipped her wine, looking him over. He seemed nice enough - honest enough, little as that might mean in a place like this. His eyes were too deep set and his hairline too high for him to be truly handsome, but he had a sort of harmless boyish charm about him that made up for those deficiencies. Maybe, if she simply went with him and kept him at a distance, Neeshka would believe whatever she wanted to believe and drop the issue after this night. She never wanted to go through this again. Ever.

"So you are saying that, if I go with you, you really won't insist?"

"Won't even mention it," he assured her, and subtly offered his arm as he stood. She hadn't had the chance to register until now just how bloody tall he was.

Wyl hadn't been tall.

Being led through the room by one hand, trying to balance her wineglass in the other, she followed him to the stairs.

"What _is_ your name?" it occurred to her to ask when they had reached the second floor. It was much quieter here, a dozen or so identical doors leading off the main hallway. Her companion for the evening opened one of them and invited her inside with a slightly mocking bow.

"You sure you want to know? Next thing, you might just tell me yours and then it'll get all personal."

She didn't appreciate his evasion.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," she replied, fully aware of how cold she sounded.

"Rilien," he told her, the word accompanied by a small sigh. "You don't flirt much, do you?"

"Haven't the patience," she admitted, and tried his name on her tongue. "I haven't heard that one before."

"It's elven. Elven-ish. My mother had some delusions."

He had sat down on the large bed that dominated the room. It was a four-poster, all silk blankets and pillows and promises of pleasure, and it lacked any nuance of subtlety. Scanning the walls, Brianna saw tasteful art, a flower arrangement on a fragile little table, even a washbasin and a stack of towels in a niche.

"I wonder how many people have coupled on that," she contemplated when her gaze returned to the bed.

"Thousands," Rilien predicted, unfazed. He leaned comfortably against a pillow. "The Moonstone Mask was around even before the war, though from what I heard, the place was quite a bit seedier then. Perhaps Ophala has had the beds replaced since those days."

"I imagine they've seen all sorts of shenanigans." Brianna leaned against the wall. She was dizzy, and she had a feeling that if she sat down now, she might not want to get up again. It wasn't a mystery why. She'd drunk quite a bit more than her usual amount this night.

She didn't even realize her eyes had closed until she felt a cool hand on her cheek.

"Are you alright, love?" Rilien asked, concern in his voice.

"Yes." She ignored the irritating endearment in favor of explaining her predicament. "It's the wine."

"Lay down for a bit, and have a sip of water" he suggested at once. "It'll pass."

She wasn't so sure about that, but let him lead her to the bed nonetheless. Sinking onto the cool pillows, she willed for the world to stop spinning. But the sheets were just so soft, and a comfortable warmth surrounded her, and she felt herself drifting off even as she knew she should fight the feeling.

_I went to a brothel, I got drunk, and now I am falling asleep in a room with a man in it whom I don't even know. This night has just turned out to be an entire string of bad ideas._


	45. Old Mistakes

**Old Mistakes**

Brianna woke to the dim glow of a winter morning sky.

Several sets of luxurious silk sheets were tangled around her limbs. She kicked them off and sat up, disoriented for only a second or two. Then the events of the previous night flooded back into the forefront of her mind along with a pounding headache, causing her to fight to suppress a groan.

_Never doing this again. Ever. _

Something stirred off to the side. Her eyes found the chair beneath the window, and with some surprise she realized that her not-quite-companion of the previous evening was sitting in it. Rilien, she remembered his name when she searched her brain, was blinking his eyes open, studying her for several heartbeats before clearing his throat.

"Good morning," he said then, politely, and stretched languorously.

"Morning," she croaked, and wondered why it was she had to suffer through this kind of awkwardness even without doing anything that warranted it. She wished he would have had the sense to leave during the night. Her body moved before she even realized she had told it to, and pillows rolled onto the floor as she scrambled to leave the bed.

Her stomach did a flip. The room spun lazily for several seconds.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Rilien's grin. She half expected him to make some remark as she checked frantically to make sure she was properly dressed, but he remained silent while her fingers quickly took inventory of all her clothes. Breeches still properly tied. Tunic wrinkled and just as dusty and stained as it had been the night before, but in one piece, as was her undershirt. Even her boots were still tightly laced.

Eventually, her hands dropped to her sides. A strange anxiety she hadn't known she'd been feeling left her, bit by bit, allowing her to take several firm steps towards the door.

"Do you require an escort, love?" Rilien called out after her, but by that time she had already set foot on the staircase.

The room which had hosted abandonless dancing and flirting the night before was all but empty now. The chairs had been set onto the tables, upside down. An elderly woman scoured the floors, and a younger maid was busy sweeping ashes from the fireplace. The sparse sounds of cleaning were accompanied by a sense of disillusionment that surprised Brianna. She hadn't even realized she had enjoyed herself in the slightest the night before. Now, the facade was all stripped away.

Eventually, she spotted Neeshka, perched on a chair in a far corner of the room. The tiefling was talking to a sophisticated-looking dark-haired woman with porcelain skin and lips of deepest ruby red. The conversation must have been an interesting one, Brianna thought, because Neeshka's tail was slashing through the air like a whip, wrapping around the slats making up the back of the chair and then unraveling again. Every once in a while, the tip drummed agitatedly against the floorboards.

Brianna hesitated before walking over to join her friend. Whatever was being discussed looked like private business, not the sort Neeshka would appreciate her sticking her nose into. Still, she wasn't about to leave this place all by herself and get lost in the maze of streets trying to find her way back to the docks district.

"Pretty, sure enough," she caught some of the words the elegant woman was saying. "Raven-haired little thing, with good skills but not the wisdom to use them. Bothers you, does it?"

"No," Neeshka said emphatically. "It doesn't bother me at all. Besides, I know this one, from back then. He can do what he wants, with whomever he wants. He just shouldn't be surprised when old mistakes come back to haunt him, that's all."

"Well, in that case," the woman said, leaning back comfortably, "you did not get this from me."

"Never spoke to you at all," Neeshka agreed, and surveyed the room with a tilt and turn of her head. Her lips turned up into a smile when she spotted Brianna.

"Had a good night?" she asked cheerfully. "You look a little worse for wear."

Brianna made a face.

"Sit down, will you?" Neeshka asked, and pulled out a chair for Brianna to sit on. "This is Ophala Cheldarstorn. Ophala, this is Brianna."

"A watchcloak, are you not?" The woman's elegant fingers were twirling the stem of the glass in front of her while she scrutinized Brianna through coal-rimmed eyes. "The one who got herself tangled up with Luskan?"

"How do you know about that?" Brianna crossed her arms before her chest, refusing the chair. She was not in the mood for a leisurely chat. Just the same, the woman knew rather a bit more about her than she was comfortable with, especially with the accusations Luskan had raised against her not yet being on the public record. Brelaina had been holding them back for a while now, trying to give Brianna as much time as possible before all of Neverwinter knew her face and her tale.

"Dearie, people talk. And it just so happens that the people who talk to me are the kind who know quite a bit worth knowing. I listen."

"So you trade in gossip as well as sex," Brianna stated bluntly.

Neeshka flinched. The smile vanished from Ophala's full, dark lips.

"Watch yourself, dearie," the woman advised. "Some with less patience than I will not take your tone well at all. I know people worth knowing, it's true, but I do not buy and sell their confidence. The Watch knows that, and so should you."

"I don't give a whit," Brianna replied easily. "But I like to call things by their proper names, if you don't mind."

"Ah." Ophala leaned back leisurely. "And what _did_ you pay for when you came here last night, dearie? What services did the Moonstone Mask provide for you?"

She stiffened. The woman sounded too confident to be guessing.

"Rilien told you," she accused, aware that she was giving herself away if the statement had indeed only been a guess. Ophala threw her head back and laughed heartily.

"That he did not." Her dark eyes were glittering with amusement. "But I am familiar enough with my employees. I know the look of the lad after he's been busy with a woman, and this is not it, precisely."

She nodded past Brianna's shoulder, causing Brianna to turn along with Neeshka to regard Rilien, who had appeared at the bottom of the stairs. The tall youngling was leaning casually against the wooden handrail, looking pointedly innocent.

_Traitor_, she mouthed in his direction. He grinned.

"Is that all, then?" Ophala was addressing Neeshka, who frowned and massaged her scalp between her horns.

"If that's all you have," the tiefling replied with a shrug, and turned to Brianna. "I dunno if you care, Bree, but I might be going after Leldon."

It took Brianna a moment to connect the name to the stories Neeshka had told her. "Your old, um, mentor?"

"Yes. Him." Neeshka's voice carried a barely familiar note of bitterness. "I still owe him a little something. And Ophala just so happens to know the whereabouts of one of his acquaintances."

Brianna could tell her friend was trying to sound casual. A bit too casual, in fact, for her not to be hoping for something.

"Any way I can help?" she asked therefore, and watched the tiefling's cheeks flush with pleasure.

"Oh yes, there definitely is," Neeshka grinned, and Brianna could have sworn that her friend was trying to keep a giggle of anticipation out of her voice.

* * *

She'd never tailed someone before. She knew there were watchmen who did that sort of work, specially trained, but nobody had ever taught her what it took to follow someone who didn't want to be followed without them noticing. Neeshka knew how to do it, though.

She was walking behind the tiefling, who was in turn shadowing the slender young woman whose description Ophala had given. Brianna made it a point to stay hidden in the busy marketplaces they crossed, just like both Neeshka and common sense had told her. Every once in a while, when the target turned and looked about too much for Neeshka's liking, she took over for her friend and kept an eye on the woman while the tiefling shrank back into the crowd.

It was a game of patience. For over an hour they trudged through the grey slush, until eventually, they saw the woman turning into a narrow alley. Brianna found herself held back by Neeshka's own hands when she stepped closer, and the tiefling shook her head.

"She'll check for anyone following her before she goes in," the other girl explained under her breath. "I know this street. Used to be a small gambler's den here, long time ago. I'm betting Leldon's made this place his new home."

When they finally did turn the corner to look, the woman was gone. Neeshka motioned for Brianna to stay back before she tiptoed out into the alley, carefully placing her feet into the imprints already in the snow. Brianna saw the sense in that. It wouldn't do to warn Leldon someone had been here, after all.

The tiefling stopped before a door that looked too solid to be the entrance to a normal house. Brianna watched as she placed her hands near the lock and crouched to scrutinize it, but didn't even take out her set of lockpicks. When she returned to Brianna's hiding spot, tail twitching, she was frowning.

"Combination lock," the tiefling informed her. "The kind that's near impossible to crack. No windows, either, and I'll bet the walls are reinforced. Maybe with magic. There's even a few wards. Leldon's gotten pretty paranoid."

Brianna neglected to point out that the paranoia was probably justified, given that they were at this exact moment plotting how to get into the hideout.

"What do we do, then?" she asked. Neeshka had vastly more experience with this sort of thing than she did.

"Don't know yet." The tiefling had started walking, still frowning. "It might take me a while to think of something, but at least we know the place now. And I _will_ think of some was of getting around that door, trust me."

"And then?" Brianna asked, studying her friend's glowing face. She wouldn't have blamed Neeshka one bit for wanting to kill Leldon, after what he had done to her, but she already had one murder charge queued up and making trouble for her. It would have been foolish to risk another.

"Then we rob him blind," Neeshka announced with a giddiness Brianna had rarely heard in the tiefling's voice. "Blind! To his last pair of underpants!"

* * *

Brianna returned to the Flagon alone. She had left Neeshka to do whatever it was the tiefling had to do to to gain the information she needed, and was now trying to remain as invisible as possible as she slunk into the taproom.

Despite her best effort, she was noticed. There was only one person in the room – Khelgar, sitting by the bar – but he saluted her enthusiastically with his tankard.

"Come to finish celebrations, lass?" he asked.

She stared as he drank, ale spilling into his beard and dripping to the floor.

"Khelgar," she said, "the sun hasn't even reached noon yet."

"The sun isn't out," the dwarf pointed out amiably. "Too much cloud cover. And a true dwarven celebration isn't stopped by such silly things as daylight. There's no daylight ter keep track of deep in the mountain, for one."

She couldn't help but grin at that.

"You're still celebrating my birthday."

"Course," he thundered and held out his tankard to her as though offering to share.

She shook her head, trying for a polite smile. Her stomach was still in knots from the night before. Ale would have been a terrible idea just now.

"How old are ye now, anyway?" Khelgar squinted at her. "Fifty-some? Seventy?"

"Twenty," she corrected.

"Oh." He frowned. "Humans, eh? Never can hold in my mind how long ye lot have ter live anyways."

She grinned. "Long enough to cause trouble," she echoed a saying she'd picked up from Simmy, back in Old Owl Well. "How old are you, then?"

"Hundred and sixty-four," he boasted, though she was not sure what there was to boast about. "Not quite old enough to find meself a comely dwarven lass, just yet."

She frowned as she walked behind the bar to get herself a glass of water. She'd never spoken to Khelgar about his plans for the future before.

"Is that what you want to do, eventually? To start a family and all of that?"

He took a long gulp of ale that caused another spill into his beard before he answered.

"Dunno, lass. If me path takes me back to th' Ironfist clan, maybe so. It's more'f a saying. As long as I've me trusty axe an' the strength to use it, life's good enough."

Her ears picked up a slight slurring of the words he spoke. It confirmed to her that he really hadn't stopped drinking since the previous night. It took an impressive amount of alcohol to make Khelgar slur his words.

The front door creaked as it was pushed open, letting in a rush of freezing cold air as well as an utterly exhausted-looking Shandra.

"You missed practice," were the first words out of the woman's mouth.

Brianna sighed. "I know. Cormick's upset, I take it?"

"Not really." Shandra brushed the snow from her hair and went to pour herself some water. "Worried though, with the disappearing act you pulled last night."

"I had things to do," Brianna said vaguely.

"During your own birthday celebration?" Shandra's delicate eyebrows knit themselves together as she practiced her most skeptical look.

"None of your business, really," Brianna replied tartly, and started forward to refill her own drink.

When the door leading to the inn's guest rooms crashed open, she didn't need to turn in order to know who was entering the room. Shandra flinched and put the water pitcher down sharply, as though to confirm the guess.

"Why swamp vixen, I didn't think you'd be up yet, after all the fun last night." Bishop's voice carried a purr so thick it wouldn't have surprised her to know he'd swallowed a kitten. He crossed the room with a few large steps, heading her way.

Shandra's eyes widened as the woman promptly took the obvious bait.

"Last night?" she echoed.

"I'd complain to Ophala if I were you." The ranger stepped close enough so his breath stirred the small hairs of her neck, but his suggestive murmur was loud enough for everyone else to understand. "Because you clearly didn't get your money's worth."

She willed for the blush that was crawling up her cheeks to stop before she answered, her voice as cold as she could make it.

"Bishop, I hate to break this to you, but you and I have very different ideas of what's worth our money."

"Clearly," he agreed, and then – gods help her – he took a deep breath, as though inhaling her scent. "Pity."

She stiffened immediately, and out of reflex groped for the hilt of a sword she was not carrying. But by that time, he had stepped away from her, as though nothing at all had happened.

"Are you up to your usual antics of stumbling and falling, or not?" he asked with a tinge of impatience in his voice. "I haven't got all day to wait around for you."

"I'll be out in a moment," she replied, and was glad when he stepped outside.

_Blast it, I thought he was done trying to scare me. _

She left Khelgar and Shandra to get her weapons, and then stepped out into the small, rarely-used lot next to the Flagon that had once been a house, burned to its foundations during the war with Luskan. It was an ugly place, as there had been no rebuilding done due to, as her uncle had explained, superstition, and therefore the few remaining bricks were charred and overgrown with city weeds. Shards of glass mixed with ones of clay glittered here and there between the bricks, where the snow wasn't covering them – the remnants of drunken brawls outside the tavern.

Bishop was waiting for her amidst the dreariness, warming up.

Before they even started on their daily routine, she knew she was going to be in trouble today. Her head felt like a mess wrapped in cotton, and her body was sore enough for her to want to run straight to her room and crawl beneath the blankets to have a good long rest. It was the thought of Luskan and its politics and assassins that kept her going.

The ranger didn't go easy on her – not that she had expected him to. It was always the same with him, a few snapped words of instruction, occasionally a rough correction of her form, and then a beating that left her arms lame and her body sore. He made her work right-handed, left-handed, and with two blades at once, which she supposed she'd hinted at wanting to learn when she had first made her offer to him. Now, the idea seemed foolish to her. She had only been practicing that way for a few weeks, but she was as likely to get her own arms in a desperate knot or to slice her own skin as she was to actually execute a move.

The blows rained down on her mercilessly. She begun to speculate that maybe Bishop himself hadn't gotten his money's worth the previous night, because she would have expected him to be in a slightly better mood after being cheered up by a woman.

_Then again, cheering up this thrice-cursed son of a bitch can't be an easy task at all_, she thought just after he smacked an already throbbing lump on her right wrist with the broad side of his blade and sent her crouching for the sword he'd made her drop. Her eyes were filling with tears from the pain, and she was desperately trying to suppress them. Bishop wouldn't ever let her hear the end of it if she cried.

"You're getting worse every day, swamp wench," he commented, waiting for her to pick herself up. "Crawling in the mud reminding you of home?"

She managed to wrap her fingers around the hilt of her blade. As she straightened, he came at her again. She tried to block his swing, and the sword promptly tumbled down again as pain shot through her wrists. He turned his blade away at the last second, and gave what was possibly the deepest sigh she'd ever heard out of him.

"You have a _second_ sword to block me with, girl. How damned thick are you?"

He said it slowly, as thought he was convinced she _was_ thick. As always, she didn't reply to his insults. Doing so would have been a waste of breath. She did admit to herself that he had a point – again, as always – and tried to figure out how to override her brain giving all of its instructions to her right hand if said hand was holding a weapon.

More drills, was the obvious answer. It was how she had gotten better with one hand, learning the moves and counters so well she could perform them in her sleep. It stood to reason she could also teach herself to remember her second arm and blade whenever she held two. Her mind needed to stop snapping back to all she had learned wielding only one blade when things got serious.

Bishop's sword threatened to decapitate her. She blocked with the weapon in her left hand, gritting her teeth, and managed to do so twice more before he broke through again and nearly sliced the skin from her collarbone.

* * *

She took a nap afterwards, curled up beneath a pile of blankets in her bed. When she woke from a refreshing, dreamless sleep, darkness had fallen.

Clutching the Neverwinter Civil Court Compendium, she made her way out to the taproom, intending to get a bit of reading in if nothing exciting was happening in the Flagon. There wasn't. It was a slow night for Duncan, with only a few sailors taking up chairs who didn't have enough coin to drink much.

Eventually she spotted Casavir, who was sitting in a chair near the door, himself reading. The paladin gave her a polite nod when he spotted her approaching. As she took the chair opposite him, he put his book down, giving her a chance to glance at what he was reading. It appeared to be a collection of bard's tales. Not the dry subject matter she would have expected him to enjoy, then.

He looked tired. This wasn't a surprise, as he always looked tired these days, still fighting off the effects of the succubus touch. She knew he had visited the temple of Tyr for guidance, been taking regular potions and praying about twice as much as he usually did, but his healing was progressing slowly. The demoness had torn a chunk of his life energy out of him. That, she figured, would take a lot of time to heal. It was a scar of the spirit rather than one of flesh and bone, which might be knitted together easily.

She didn't like seeing him so frustrated, though it was easy to figure out why he was. He had accompanied her to Neverwinter to help her, after all. Now he did not have the strength to. She had, in fact, half expected him to offer his help researching law for the trial, after his decisive speech during her arrest, but no such offer had come from him. She thought perhaps it might be prudent to ask him, to keep his pride and sense of purpose from withering away completely.

Words did not always come easy when talking to the holy warrior. She still could not keep herself from mulling over every single word in her mind, just to make sure she did not fall back into her habit of lying without even noticing it. Mutely, she looked down at her hands.

Her stomach growled. She hadn't really eaten a thing today, apart from an apple and a roll just before they had set out to find the girl leading them to Leldon's hideout. Casavir looked up at once, his face almost comically alarmed.

"Would you like me to fetch a meal for you from Duncan?" he offered.

"Please."

Ordinarily, she would have gone to get food herself, but it felt nice to be sitting in the warmth, doing nothing at all. The day had been busy, and despite her nap, she was weary. Besides, maybe this went a little way in making the paladin feel like he was doing something to assist her.

She gave Casavir a thankful smile when he returned with a bowl of stew and a platter of meat, bread and cheese. It was Duncan's standard fare, nothing special, but filling enough. She pushed the platter to the center of the table, inviting Casavir to share her meal.

"Been keeping busy reading?" she asked eventually, desperate to strike up some semblance of a conversation. His eyes wandered to his book and then back up to meet hers, and he nodded reluctantly, as though he was not convinced she really wanted to know.

"I was wondering if you would do me a favor," she said. The idea had come to her only moments ago, a way to keep him occupied without making him feel like she was giving him busywork. "It's related to the trial."

He nodded at once. The man was too trusting by half. He did not even know what she wanted of him yet.

"I'll have to speak in front of Nasher, and the Luskan ambassador, and a lot of other folk from the nobility during the trial." Her stomach was tying itself into knots just thinking about it. She shooed the feeling away. It was no use panicking when the inevitable was still more than a month away.

"That is what Sand is preparing for with you, is it not?" He was a little skeptical after all, looking at her as though trying to figure her out.

"Well, yes, but that isn't what I need the help with." She looked down at her hands. "I know how it works by now, Sand's explained it often enough. There's a lot of talking in court. There's a crowd, nobles and commoners alike, out for blood, and they shouldn't matter when it comes to judgment, but in the end they always do. I'll need the crowd on my side as much as I can."

She took a deep breath, aware he might not like what she was about to ask. "I know you've had plenty of dealings with the Neverwinter nobility. Truth be told, I don't know why you haven't sought any of them out already. You know them well. You're respected, and if you were to visit those you know and mention you were with me when I was supposed to be cutting down villagers…"

"No," he said.

She stared. For a moment she thought she might have misheard.

She hadn't expected him to be thrilled at the idea. While she was not asking him to do anything immoral or illegal, it was not the most pleasant of errands, but she would have thought he would see its necessity.

Never would she have expected him to refuse her outright.

"I will testify at the trial, as we agreed." There was no aggression in his voice, though he was obviously trying hard to keep the emotion from it. Just _what_ emotion, she wasn't sure. "But I will not seek out anyone in Blacklake. I cannot. I am sorry."

From him, this was as good as a full-blown punch to her gut. She felt like it had been too, her face slack-jawed, her mind disbelieving.

He seemed to know it, because the lines around his mouth and eyes deepened, making him look even older than he did normally. His eyes avoided hers. She didn't even bring the question as to why he wouldn't do it across her lips. Something told her he would not readily answer.

He reached for his book then and stood, giving her his usual polite nod before he fled more than walked off.

She leaned back. Her appetite had gone along with any shred of good mood she might have had left. She pushed the bowl of stew away and stared at it.

Blast it all. Did everyone have some bloody secret or another buried in the frozen dirt?

Her brooding went on for a good while and was interrupted only when a slim hand entered her field of vision and snatched a chunk of cheese. She jumped, ready to slap it away, and found herself glaring at the tiefling.

"Eat up," Neeshka advised. "We have rats to catch. Hope you got some rest."

Brianna mechanically reached for bread.

"Tonight?" she asked, surprised. Neeshka had worked out the combination lock sooner than she would have thought.

"Yes, tonight." The tiefling grabbed the platter and dumped food into one of the deeper pockets of her tunic. "We can finish this later. Get your gear and let's get going. This night is bound to be glorious."


	46. Seduction

**Seduction**

While they walked the dark streets at a brisk pace, Neeshka explained.

"I got to thinking about Tasha, you know, the girl we tailed. I know her from when I was still with Leldon. She was one of the circle around him then, sharing the spoils, sometimes, but not doing much of anything to earn them. She's gotten better since, but she's still a harlot."

Brianna raised an eyebrow at her friend after that outburst, but wisely chose not to comment. Snow crunched under their feet as they hurried on. There were few people about at this hour, and those who did cross their path were avoided easily enough by ducking into the shadows between two houses or turning a corner and taking an alternate alleyway to their destination. Brianna let Neeshka take the lead, following along quickly and quietly.

"Ophala said that Tasha thinks she's moved up in the world since she's been going to bed with Leldon. Insulted her girls once or twice, those from the Mask. That's why Ophala gave her up so easily. Lucky me, huh?"

"Lucky," Brianna agreed.

She tried to be excited for the tiefling, but with the entire day having been less than stellar and Casavir's rejection so fresh in mind, it was difficult to care. Nevertheless, the cold breeze flicking her curls into her face stirred some strange excitement in her.

"Tasha hasn't got a mind for numbers," Neeshka continued. "Never did have. I know that for sure. So if Leldon changes his combination regularly, which I'll bet he does if he's so paranoid about everything else, she'll have the numbers written down. On a piece of paper, or maybe on her skin, but she wouldn't risk forgetting them and being locked out."

"Wouldn't that be counterproductive?" Brianna asked.

"Not like she'd actually tell Leldon."

That made sense to Brianna. Someone like Tasha, nervous about losing her newfound patron and provider, Leldon, might do a thing or two on the sly to make sure she wouldn't look stupid in front of him. Even if that went against his direct orders or wishes.

"So we're going after this Tasha for the combination, then?" she asked.

Neeshka shook her head, then nodded. "She knows me. Seeing me would only warn her to something going on. And no offense, but I don't think you'd be able to get that number from her peacefully. No, I got that brilliant idea when I went back to the Mask for my knife belt. Tasha's afraid of losing Leldon, to be sure, but she's easily flattered and not a little stupid, too. I asked Ophala to send one of her boys to get those numbers."

Brianna couldn't keep the grin from creeping up into her face.

"You planned to have her seduced?"

"Yep," Neeshka confirmed cheerfully, then shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure it won't be the first time she's been with another man since Leldon. Not like he deserves anyone's faithfulness, anyway. Point is though, everyone working for Ophala knows their stuff, and most could talk a mouse into makin' love to a snake. Even better if it's personal, with Tasha being stupid enough to insult those girls. I paid quite a bit, what I had leftover from the gems, mostly. Ophala's tried hard to get her business straightened out, but she'll always have a tiny bit of the old crookedness left in her. Trust me. We'll get those numbers."

They waited in a tiny, narrow alley in the shadows of the Temple of Tyr, Casavir's patron god. Clad in dark colors as they were and out of the moonlight, it would have been difficult for anyone not knowing exactly where they were to spot them. They munched on cheese, meat and bread from Neeshka's pouch while they waited.

"We are for sure going in tonight, then?" Brianna wanted to know eventually. A bit of nervousness reared its head in the pit of her stomach, but at the same time, she thought she was freezing stiff. She felt a slight movement next to her and realized that Neeshka was nodding.

"No telling when he'll change those numbers next, so yes, we will. He won't be there, I bet, since he does all of his business at nighttime."

"Can't be that easy, though." Brianna stared into the darkness at random. "He's bound to have more security in the place than the doorlock, right?"

An elbow bumped gently into her ribs.

"Remember what I used to make a living doing," Neeshka reminded her. "I wasn't just a lousy pickpocket. I'm brilliant at burglarizing. You'll be my backup and bodyguard. It'll be fun!"

Brianna wasn't so sure about that, but she was not about to withdraw her agreement now. This all meant a lot to Neeshka. Maybe she could even learn something in the process.

Just as she was beginning to be afraid that she might actually freeze solid in her crouching position, her ears beneath her hood caught the sound of whistling. Two tones in rapid succession, subdued as to only be heard by someone in the immediate vicinity.

Neeshka started forward, and Brianna hurried to follow. Apparently, their informant had arrived.

They found him leaning against the wall of the temple itself, as though sure that Tyr, the god of justice, would not find fault with the business they were on. Wearing a dark, fur-lined cloak with a hood as well, he could have been anyone, but Neeshka seemed sure of herself as she stepped forward.

"You got it?" she asked, not bothering to hide her excitement.

Brianna's eyes narrowed at the folded piece of parchment changing hands, then widened as she saw Neeshka handing over a cloth pouch without even checking what she had received. The tiefling had to be either uncharacteristically trusting or far too excited to be making that mistake.

"Are they actually on there?" she asked, stepping forward as well. "The numbers?"

"As though I'd cheat you," a familiar voice chided, and the stranger's head turned towards her while her mind sorted through the faces which the voice could possibly belong to. "Hello again, love."

_Rilien._

"Stop calling me that," she snapped to hide her surprise. She heard him chuckle under his breath before he turned his attention back to Neeshka, who had indeed unfolded the parchment and was looking at it attentively. Brianna had nearly forgotten just how well the tiefling could see in the dark.

"Looks good," the tiefling muttered, absorbed.

"You're going after Leldon, then?" Rilien asked, though in a tone that made it clear he required no answer. Their plan was probably quite obvious as this point. "Need any help?"

"What, from you?" This time, Brianna couldn't quite manage to veil the surprise in her words.

"What, because all I'm good for is bedding women or sitting in chairs while they sleep off the wine?" he asked. His voice was teasing, which she was plenty familiar with by now. What she wasn't familiar with was the speech he had slipped into, just a hint of a telltale accent, which she would have placed on someone from the docks or lower city, but not on a man working at an establishment like the Moonstone Mask in a respectable part of the city.

"You made him sit in a chair?" That was Neeshka, giggling in the darkness. "Gods above, really? You're just hopeless!"

That put her on the defensive, fast.

"You said I could say no, and I did," she hissed. "Now, if you've got nothing better to do than to stand here and chastise me for it…"

A gentle arm came around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," Neeshka said.

Brianna swallowed a sharp reply and nodded. The tiefling's apology had been simple, but heartfelt.

"We do need a spot, though." Neeshka was thinking of their plan again now. "Would you mind terribly if he came with? Might save us trouble with the Watch."

She turned towards the shadow that was Rilien.

"You really trust him?" she asked, loud enough so he could hear it.

"I've got nothing to gain from giving you away," he replied calmly. "Plenty to lose though, seeing how Ophala would lop my ears clean off. And you didn't hear what that guttersnipe Tasha called Evlyn and some of the other girls. Us from the Mask, we get touchy about that, I suppose."

Brianna shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, then."

Off they went, with Neeshka leading the way, as she was the only one who fully knew and remembered it. Brianna and Rilien followed her, walking next to each other in silence until Brianna couldn't help but share the thought that had come to her.

"You called her a guttersnipe. Tasha, I mean."

There was a short period of silence, broken only by the crunching of the day-old snow as they marched through it. Away from the busier streets, the snow cover had not yet turned to mud and slush.

"She is," Rilien finally answered. "And worse. Looks down on the lot of us even though she spreads her legs for Leldon in exchange for his protection, and a share of his money. It's hypocritical, is what it is."

"But you slept with her, didn't you?" Brianna asked bluntly. "To get those numbers?"

He was quiet again, for much longer this time. On they walked, and when she finally thought he wouldn't answer her at all, he did.

"You don't sweeten your words even a little, do you? Brutal, you are. I like it better than those who won't come out with it at all, though."

"Didn't answer my question," she pointed out primly.

"Yeah," he said, his voice betraying his irritation. "I had her in bed. She'd had wine already. It wasn't a hard thing to do."

"Was it still fun?"

She wasn't even certain why she asked. She was almost certainly being rude, and she had no idea what part of her even wanted to know. But still she found the questions slipping out, without even realizing they had been there until they hung in the frigid winter air between them. It was such a very morbid subject.

"No," he said, with a little sharpness to his voice. "It wasn't fun. But it was a means to an end, and I was getting paid for it, and it's what I do."

It was clear from his tone that he wanted her to drop the subject, and so she did. But suddenly, she was twice as glad that she'd refused him the night before.

They didn't talk any more after that, and only a little while later they reached the alley with the hideout's entrance.

"Right," Neeshka said, turning and keeping her voice low. "You two keep watch while I get that lock. The night watch usually keep to the main streets, they aren't likely to catch us, but I'd rather not risk someone spotting us and fetching them. So keep an eye out. Once I have the door open, Brianna, you're with me."

She was giving orders like a Watch sergeant. Brianna would have stared at the tiefling in astonishment if it hadn't been too dark for that sort of thing. She hadn't known her friend could be so bossy and decisive.

"Ah, spot," Rilien sighed somewhere to her right. "Haven't done that in a long time."

She picked up on it right away. "You were involved with burglarizing before?"

He sighed deeply. Then, he clicked his tongue.

"Really, love," he said. "I haven't exactly worked for Ophala from the age of five, now."

She grit her teeth. "I really, _really_ want you to stop calling me that."

"What would you like, then, seeing as how I still don't know your name? Kitten? Sweetheart? I've got a nice assortment of names to make a lady feel special."

A corner of her mouth turned up, despite the fact that he couldn't see it. "I doubt they'll feel quite so special after you tell them that."

"I don't make a habit of that, obviously. Not exactly healthy for my line of work."

"You're telling me," she pointed out.

"Yes, well, as I recall, you didn't want me, did you?" He had brought that teasing note into his voice again. Maybe he wasn't as upset with her as she had first thought. "I can tell those I go burglarizing with."

"And if I came back to the Mask?" she asked, simply because she was curious what his answer would be.

She knew he was smiling, even though she couldn't see him. His voice gave it away.

"Then I'll be well and truly in trouble, won't I?"

Her ears picked up a hiss from Neeshka's direction. Her friend had gotten the door open. She hurried to enter after the tiefling, who stopped her with a harsh hand on her shoulder just as she was about to take her first step inside the building.

"Alarm trap," Neeshka explained. "Bit of string, not a hand's breadth before your shins. You trip it and any guards he might have will know we're here."

She stepped over it with Neeshka's voice guiding her. Further they went into the building, dodging traps here and there, making their way through a cluttered, narrow hallway, then a kitchen. The place made her feel as though she might topple a stack of trinkets if she had even the tiniest bit of elbow out of line, which was why her movements were as controlled as she could make them. Neeshka spotted any and all possible danger. Some traps she disabled, cutting strings that blocked their way with her dagger or tying them in a knot. Brianna noted the locations of every obstacle the passed in her mind. They picked their way past two locked doors, one of which was also trapped with electricity. Neeshka scoffed as she triggered the mechanism by tossing her pick, and they watched the blue arcs of miniature lightning dancing around the lock before they vanished again.

Brinna had her sword ready, as well as her chalice. She knew that it was far better for them to remain in the darkness, but if things did go wrong, if they were discovered and she would have to fight, she'd do it while seeing who she was fencing with. It was a bit nerve-wrecking to go wandering through the near-darkness with only Neeshka's voice and movement to guide her past towering, shadowy shapes.

Eventually, the tiefling stopped.

"Bedroom," she whispered, just as the outside of Brianna's thigh bumped against something soft she recognized as a feathered mattress, as though to confirm Neeshka's words.

"Unless he's changed far more than I think he has, he should have everything of value hidden away here. He can't stand having his loot out of sight."

They searched the room, coordinated and silently. Brianna used her chalice to give her the barest hint of light, careful to shield the shine from Neeshka, so she wouldn't hurt the tiefling's sensitive darkvision. She checked beneath the mattress and the bed itself, behind a sharp-cornered dresser, and had just begun to slide her hands along the trim on the wall when Neeshka made a muffled sound of triumph.

"Loose floorboards," the tiefling announced in a whisper. "Well, he never was very creative."

Together, they moved the slender piece of wood. It was set well into the floor, and it took some time until they were able to work it free and lay it aside. The compartment beneath was shallow, and just large enough to hold several bits of jewelry.

They did a quick sweep for traps, and then the delicate creations of metal, pearls and gemstones vanished into one of Neeshka's leather pouches. The tiefling wore a grin as broad as an imp's as she tied it shut.

There were three more compartments hidden around the bedroom floor. One contained delicate, elven-made silver bracelets. Another hid a stack of gold and silver coins. The last one contained a pile of rolled up parchments. Neeshka flattened one and burst into a fit of barely suppressed giggles.

"Charcoal drawings," the tiefling was finally able to explain. "Nudes. Of Tasha. I think. They're so terrible it's hard to tell." As though there was no question about it, she pocketed the evidence of Leldon's artistic forays as well.

Brianna was waiting for Neeshka to leave when she noticed the tiefling's agitation. A demonic tail smacked her in the shins when she stepped close. Neeshka spun around.

"Sorry," the tiefling whispered. "This can't be all. He's got to have another hiding place."

Without asking how she might possibly know that, Brianna went to work again. Her gloved hands touched every speck of wall, every surface that might have a hidden compartment. She pressed, pulled, prodded, and eventually she was rewarded. A piece of the bed's headboard came loose when she applied pressure to its corners.

She stared into the darkness inside the thick headboard.

"Neesh," she said, and the tiefling eagerly joined her.

"This must be it," Neeshka said softly. Her fingers prodded the wood, then she quickly stuck one slender hand into the opening.

"Anything there?" Brianna asked when her friend made a sound of frustration.

"No. Maybe. I don't know, there's something here, another cover, I think…"

The tiefling retracted her hand and pulled her glove off with her teeth. Bare-handed now, she re-inserted the arm. "There are little groves, tricky to notice, but I think if I push them just right…"

Something clicked inside the headboard. Neeshka grinned, but then her entire body convulsed and she flung herself away from the headboard as far as possible. Brianna jumped.

"Neesh?" she asked, crawling after her friend. "Neesh, what happened?"

"Acid," the tiefling answered through clenched teeth. "That son of a… cursed hells, it's burning my skin off!"

She was cradling her bare arm with her other, which was still gloved, rocking back and forth in what was probably a fight not to scream.

Brianna stared, feeling utterly helpless. They had no healing potions with them, nothing to ease the sting.

"We need to get out of here now," she said when her brain finally resumed working. "Get you looked at by Sand or Elanee, or even just to a temple. Come on!"

She pulled the other girl to her feet, which was difficult, because Neeshka refused to give up her fetal position. Finally, the tiefling shook her head wildly, tears running down her cheeks freely. Her face was a grimace of pain.

"The loot," she gasped. "In the headboard. I'm not leaving it. You get it, you're still wearing your gloves."

Brianna had no desire to waste time, and just the same, she rather wouldn't have stuck her hand into an acid-soaked hole, even with a layer of leather protecting her. But she knew Neeshka would not go without arguing, and that would probably waste even more time.

So she plunged her hand into the compartment, groping wildly and fishing out a small, metal-coated box that seemed untouched by whatever was eating Neeshka's skin. She turned, wanting to ask Neeshka for another pouch.

The tiefling twisted once more with agony, stumbled, and fell into the dresser. A large picture frame, hung behind it, took offense to the collision and came off the wall, crashing first into the dresser and then to the floor with a noise far too loud to go unnoticed, shattering into a thousand pieces.

For a single heartbeat that stretched on forever, Brianna stood with her breath held. Then Neeshka whimpered, and a shimmer of light from the hallway told her that someone out there had been alerted.

"Run," she hissed at the tiefling, shoving the box into a pocket, grasping her friend by her good arm and pulling hard. Neeshka, who had probably managed to realize how much trouble they were in, complied at once. They dashed through the open doors, triggering an alarm trap, crossed the kitchen and crashed right into the broad-shouldered guard that had been walking along the hallway.

A male voice shouted in surprise. Brianna smacked into the wall to one side, Neeshka to the other, and at the same time they kicked for the man's crotch. The tiefling hit. As the man went down, his fist caught Brianna in the side and knocked the wind out of her. She tried to shake it off. Steps indicated a second guard was not far.

They dragged each other further, triggering another alarm trap. It was too late for it to matter now, they had given themselves away to anyone who had ears already. Brianna eventually heaved her friend through the thick door leading into the starry night, sending Neeshka tumbling into the snow. The tiefling remained there, burying her right arm in the snowdrift to the elbow. She looked to be shaking madly.

"You can't stay," Brianna hissed at her, plucking at Neeshka's cloak. "Damn it, we've only got a few seconds.

A moving shadow behind her sent her groping for her swords. She had them both out and ready by the time she recognized Rilien.

He appeared to know this was not the time for asking questions. With a few steps he was next to Neeshka, lifting her clear of the snow and throwing her over one shoulder.

"Stay clear of her arm, it's acid-soaked," Brianna managed to instruct him, just before something resembling a frenzied giant barreled from the house and tried to bash her head in with a club.

She side-stepped his attack and distracted him with one blade, bashing the hilt of the other against his temple in a smooth watchcloak's move Cormick would have been proud of. He stumbled into the snow, not as knocked out as she would have liked him to be, but obviously disoriented.

A roar of anger could be heard through the open door to the hideout. Brianna spun around.

_No kills,_ Neeshka had said.

_There's no time to tangle with some stupid thugs. _

"Run," she called out to Rilien, though it wasn't necessary, because he was already to the end of the alley and rounding the corner by the time she said it, despite his heavy load of one tiefling. Brianna sheathed her blades as she sprinted after him, hoping he knew his way around this part of the city. If he didn't, they were probably screwed.


	47. Spoils

**Spoils**

The stairs of the Lady's Shrine were made of cold, hard marble.

Brianna supposed they looked pretty enough during daylight hours, when the rays of the sun warmed them and allowed them to sparkle, greeting those come to revere the goddess in whose honor the stairs had been built. At the moment though, the marble was responsible for her backside being cold and numb, and she cursed it heartily in her mind even while she sent a quick prayer to Lady Luck herself.

_Please let Neeshka not lose the use of her hand, Lady Tymora. Let luck be with her this time. _

She raised her hands to her mouth, forming a little hollow between them, and blew her breath through the space between her thumbs to warm them. She had been forced to take of her gloves before the acid ate its way through the stitching. They were laying on a step near her now, half falling apart.

_At least I didn't wear the new fur-lined ones. That would have been a waste. _

Frowning, she tried to take back the thought. It didn't seem right to be worrying about gloves when Neshka was still being tended to. The flesh on the tiefling's hand had been peeling clean off when they had arrived at the shrine. It had been a disgusting sight, watching the strips of skin dangling from her friend's wrist while trying to calm her enough so that the priest could do his work. Eventually, Neeshka had slumped in a faint, and Brianna had been able to leave.

A steaming mug appeared in front of her face. She hadn't heard anyone approaching, but then again, she had been too busy brooding to listen. Looking past it and up at Rilien, she accepted the beverage with a curt nod. Her hands immediately rejoiced at the warmth of the clay mug.

"Any word yet?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Still working on her. And I know better than to rush a healer."

Brianna silently agreed. There was little they could do but sit and wait, so she carefully blew onto whatever piping hot liquid Rilien had just handed her and took a tiny sip.

The tea scalded her tongue, but spread the taste of mint and several other herbs she wasn't able to identify in her mouth. Leaning back against the cold marble, she drank again.

"Damn," she said then, softly.

If Neeshka lost use of her hand, she was personally going to track down Leldon and cut out his organs one by one. Even though it might complicate her trial, even though it might lead to dismissal from the Watch if it ever came out, she'd have revenge for the tiefling.

Her hands were shaking, half from the cold, half from fury. She was a bit surprised to realize how strongly she felt. Some months ago, she wouldn't have considered lifting a finger on a matter like this, revenge or otherwise. Even for Amie, she had never considered actively pursuing the gith Sword Stalker who had killed her.

Rilien had sat down on the stairs as well, a good distance from her. When she turned her head towards him now, his eyes met hers.

"I hate waiting," she found herself confessing to him. Patience had never been a virtue she had cared to cultivate.

"Well," he said, propping his elbows onto the next stair up and scrutinizing her, "to pass the time, would you mind if I asked you a question?"

"I might not answer," she warned him.

He asked anyway.

"What do you do, oh elusive butterfly, when you aren't visiting the Mask or breaking into people's hideouts?"

"Elusive butterfly?" she repeated incredulously once her mind had wrapped around the words. "_Butterfly_?"

"I admit, it isn't my best creation," he said with a shrug. "It doesn't really fit either, mind you, but you're a hard one to describe in one endearment."

"So don't."

"But I'm enjoying your reaction."

He was grinning openly at her, tapping one finger against his lips. "Let's see. You've got something of a cat about you, but not a kitten. One of the feral ones who'll take a finger off if you try to stroke their fur a bit. Not a chance of belly rubs."

"Belly rubs," she repeated, putting emphasis on both words. A part of her mind wondered how he had reduced her to parroting half of what he was spouting. Hearing her tone, he ducked his head.

"Well, it is how you look to me," he defended himself.

"And you look like a puppy who's just made a mess in the corner, but you don't hear me making a pet name of it, do you?"

"You could," he offered cheerfully.

"I'm starting to think your mother dropped you on your head something vicious when you were little," she philosophized.

"And I'm starting to think you might be evading that question I asked."

It didn't faze her. "I said I might not answer."

"Come on, wildcat, I'm dead curious, after seeing you in a fight and all. What is it you do during the daytime? Gutting fish? Minding your six illegitimate children?"

The corner of her mouth quirked without her consent. She shouldn't have found him funny, but she did, a little. And he would learn who she was anyway, once news of the impending trial leaked.

"By day I'm a watchwoman," she said therefore, watching him carefully.

He froze for a long moment, staring, before the customary grin spread across his face again.

"A watchwoman breaking into houses at night, eh?"

"Just the one," she reminded him. "And Leldon's a criminal anyway."

"He's unlikely to get the Watch involved," Rilien nodded, falling serious. "Still, it's a big risk."

She shrugged. He acted as though she had spent a long time contemplating the matter. The truth had been much simpler. Neeshka had asked for help, and she had given it. Risks hadn't entered that equation.

"I had my reasons," she said, unwilling to explain herself to him. "I'll thank you to leave them."

He mock-bowed while sitting, his arm in a flourish. It made Brianna feel the childish urge to elbow him hard enough to leave a bruise.

He was quiet after that, studying her with his face in a slight frown.

She refused to stare back and instead turned to look out into the night.

The Lady's Shrine offered a view of the broad Neverwinter river, flowing freely through the city despite the freezing temperatures. Even in the winter the water was warm, enabling the gardens on its shores to bloom, defying the ice, waging a constant battle against the season.

She had heard that it was the fire giants who kept the water warm, that the spring which fed the river was located on a mountain claimed by the behemots whose skin, so the books told it, burned always without being consumed, and whose strength was legendary, though only second to the amount of control the giants had over the element of fire. It was only a rumor, told by Duncan on a slow night over a shared ale, but Brianna had seen enough of the world by now that she wouldn't have been surprised if the story had more than a kernel of truth to it.

"I know who you are," Rilien said at this point, interrupting her thoughts.

"Yeah?" she said, making it a point to sound bored as she glanced at him.

"You're the watchwoman who took down Moire." He nodded when he looked her over again, as though satisfied with his conclusion. "Brianna Storm, isn't it? Though they say you're taller, generally. And that you carry a broadsword and can breathe lightning."

She found herself smiling again. "I've been trying to work on that," she said lightly. "Growing taller, particularly. It doesn't seem to want to happen."

"Stand outside in the rain, like the trees do," he advised her. "My ma told me to, when I was five. It worked for me, see."

"That it did," she agreed dryly.

"Quite a feat." He had switched back to the previous topic, it took her a moment to realize. "Moire was a tough one."

"How'd you know that?" It was only fair, she figured that she gave as good as she got when it came to questions. At least the conversation was keeping her mind off the more pressing matters. "You're not from the docks."

"Her influence didn't stop with the docks, you know that. She did plenty of meddling everywhere else in the city too. But to answer that question you smuggled in there, no, I'm not from the docks. Spent some time there though, before Ophala took me in."

"And how'd you get to working at Ophala's?" she asked something that she had been curious about for some time. "And why?"

"Well, wildcat, my mother grew very ill and died, leaving my little sister and myself with nothing. I had to care for her, so I went to the docks to look for work, and when it grew too dangerous there and I feared for my sister's life, I went to Ophala."

She took a close look, studying his features, his eyes, mulling over his words in her mind.

"Liar," she said then. It was a good story, one he'd probably told a thousand times to the people who'd asked, but she could tell nonetheless. He wasn't half as good as she was at telling untruths.

"Spoilsport," he replied, good-naturedly and not at all flustered.

She fixed him with a thorough look.

"Let's hear the real story, then."

He leaned back, stretching out his long legs on the stairs, and sighed.

"Very well. My ma remarried, and I was a young idiot who didn't like not having her all to myself any more, so I ran away and fell in with the shady side of Neverwinter for a bit. Not too deeply though, as she came looking for me and found me eventually and gave me the thrashing of my life for it."

She laughed. "That's more like it. Real life isn't ever half as glamorous as the stories."

"That's what tipped you off, isn't it? I'll have to remember that." He nodded gravely.

She liked how little he cared about being caught in a lie. She was always annoyed when it happened to her, but Rilien managed to take a lesson from it and move on.

"Do you even have a sister?" she wanted to know.

"Not that I know of." He shrugged, his eyes half-apologetic and half displaying the usual mischief when he continued. "I was young enough not to know what I was doing, but old enough to get a taste for women during the weeks I spent on the streets. That didn't change when I was back home, I'm afraid, though my dear old ma didn't like it at all. I learned how to sweet-talk and how to pretend, and I think that's why Ophala agreed to take me in, eventually. She paid well, so I agreed. My ma did pass away from a sickness, actually, but not after I'd already worked at the Mask for a while."

He looked down at her, rubbing his hands together in the freezing air. "It isn't a truth I can tell often, when I work. The lovely women who enjoy my company wouldn't like it at all."

"Don't worry," she shrugged. "I'm not likely to blab."

"Much obliged." He pushed himself off the stairs and stood, turning towards the shrine. "I'll go and check on…"

When he stopped mid-sentence, she turned.

Neeshka was standing in the archway atop the stairs, looking pale and cradling her right hand with the other.

"Hey," the tiefling said in a shaky, toneless voice.

When she spotted the raw, red skin covering the girl's slim fingers, Brianna's stomach lurched.

"Bad?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Neeshka nodded, then shook her head.

"Hurts like a million hot needles," she eventually explained. "I got lucky though. It'll heal."

The tiefling's legs were shaking, so Brianna grasped her by the elbow and assisted her in sitting down on the steps. Neeshka looked embarrassed to be needing the help.

"Thank you," she muttered, her head low.

"Don't mention it. You've been through enough." Brianna knew only too well what it felt like to feel helpless and weak and embarrassed about it. She didn't want Neeshka to keep thinking about it.

"Did you open the box?" the tiefling asked after several seconds of silence. "I want to know if it was worth all this."

"Nothing's worth you losing use of your hand," Brianna pointed out, but she reached into her pocket just the same. She hadn't even spared a thought to the container she had recovered from its hiding spot, not while she had been so worried about the tiefling. Now, she placed the box on the marble steps and carefully lifted the lid.

"Hah!" Neeshka exclaimed triumphantly, and so loudly Brianna jerked back and dropped the lid. It clattered down the stairs.

"What's that thing?" Rilien asked with unveiled curiosity. "Looks like a Coin of the Lady."

"It is," Neeshka assured him and picked up the small polished coin hanging from a glittering golden chain. "One of Tymora's luckbringers. I knew he'd have it hidden away somwehere."

It took Brianna a moment to understand. "That was yours, wasn't it? And he took it from you after that heist you told me about, along with everything else."

Neeshka just nodded as she separated the links of chain clumsily with her uninjured hand and pulled the talisman over her head. Brianna thought she should have been peeved that Neeshka hadn't mentioned the coin before now, but she couldn't bring herself to feel the emotion. Neeshka looked too happy and satisfied to have her trinket back.

"Brought you luck then, even when you weren't wearing it," Rilien remarked. "A thief isn't much good without her fingers, after all. Seems like we brought you to the right shrine."

"Yes," Neeshka replied a little absent-mindedly, flexing her raw fingers and promptly hissing, her face a grimace. "Hells, this'll be annoying fast."

"What else is in here, then?" Brianna had spotted a small bundle of black velvet which, on closer inspection, turned out to be a bag held closed by a drawstring of silk. She opened it carefully and peered inside.

"Stars," she whispered, impressed. Then she poured the cut and polished gems out onto the palm of her hand so the other two could see them too. It was an assortment of small rubies, emeralds and amethysts, glittering in beautiful colors under the light from the shrine's torches. They were too small to be worth a huge fortune, but still nothing to sneeze at, and incredibly pretty to boot.

"You want some of them?" Neeshka asked, and only after she tore her eyes away from the stones did Brianna realize that Neeshka was talking to Rilien. "Seems fair, since you helped and all."

Brianna half-expected Rilien to refuse, but he leaned forward after a moment's consideration and picked out several of the gems. His fingers tickled when they brushed her palm.

"My thanks," he said, and Brianna thought she saw his more sophisticated Moonstone Mask personality shining through again.

"And that's for Ophala." Neeshka held out one of the elven-made bracelets she had just dug out of her pouch with her good left hand. "Give her my best, if you please."

"I will," he replied, taking it and straightening up. "Will you ladies be requiring an escort, then, or do you prefer to make your own way back?"

He was definitely slipping the mask back on, Brianna realized and suppressed a small smile. It was interesting to see.

"We'll make it on our own, thanks," she replied rather politely while standing up, as not to force him to drop the act again.

"Very well," he nodded. "I bid you good night, then, and wish you a speedy recovery."

With that he turned and walked towards the river.

Neeshka, Brianna realized when she turned to her friend, was looking after him thoughtfully.

"Strange one, isn't he?" the tiefling asked. "Cute though."

Rilien turned once more.

"I could say the same thing about you, my lovely whip-tailed demonic beauty," he called back. "And about the emerald-eyed wildcat with her skin fair as coldstones."

Neeshka dissolved into giggles despite the pain she had to be in. He was overdoing it in such a measure that Brianna found herself laughing as well, even though her cheeks were fiercely blushing.

"Go home, puppy," she called after him, and after yet another mock-bow, he did.


	48. Too Far Gone

**Too Far Gone**

During her meeting with Sand the next day, Brianna fell asleep.

She woke to find fur in her mouth, and then she opened her eyes to see nothing but more fur, and so she she raised her arms and shoved energetically.

A yowl of protest accompanied the departure of the fur, and instead she could now see the stack of books next to which she had made her resting place.

"Sand," she said, her voice rough, "I'd be much obliged if you told your cat not to stick its paws into my mouth again."

"You could, of course, avoid tempting Jaral altogether by simply remaining awake while we discuss the fine points of your impending trial," the wizard pointed out.

She raised her head to find him still sitting like he had been at the beginning of their meeting, a huge tome before him, his long, elegant fingers turning pages mechanically.

"My entire defense is based on eyewitnesses saying I didn't do it, and that's with the entire accusation based on eyewitnesses saying I _did_ do it, and of course the fact that there is an entire village full of dead people. All I can really do at this point is buttering up more eyewitnesses."

"Evidence will be forthcoming," Sand assured her, his features tense. The wizard appeared stressed these days, and Brianna didn't doubt that her trial had something to do with that. "As I have already informed you numerous times, I have put in a petition for an exemption on your behalf."

She threw him a skeptical look. "You really think they'll approve it? Let me travel to Ember?"

"Yes, indeed I believe they will."

She yawned and pushed herself off the table.

"Do you mind if I take this home with me?" She rapped her knuckles on the topmost book on the stack. "I'm far too tired to go through it now."

A frown appeared on the moon elf's elegantly high forehead. "Whatever activities you enjoy at night that you deem so much more important than preparing to defend your life in a court of law, I suggest you cease them and focus instead on the work you need to do.

"Sand," she said, before her words were interrupted by the inescapable urge to yawn. She gave in to it before continuing. "I've read the Court Compendium close to seven times. I can recite all points of the Luskan-Neverwinter treaty backwards and in my sleep."

"Neither of which will, by itself, be enough to save your neck from the noose, I assure you," the wizard replied.

She sighed and stood. A wheat-colored shadow streaked past her and jumped onto her chair before she had even fully stepped aside.

Brianna couldn't resist rubbing Jaral between the ears as he curled up contently on the pillow her rear-end had just occupied.

"One day, someone will sit on you, and then you'll be squashed like a bug," she warned him. He opened one eye and studied her, unimpressed.

When she turned, she found Sand ready to shove a stack of books into her arms. She scrambled to keep them all from falling.

"This one," he said, pointing, "contains an entire detailed transcript of a court session from an imp-smuggling case some eight years ago, complete with an analysis of the defense's shortcomings, as well as several examples of fatal mistakes in choosing flawed character witnesses."

"Fascinating," she sighed, but rearranged her face to look more severe after she spotted Sand's peeved expression. "I'll read it tonight."

"Yes, you had best do that," he agreed with a bit of an edge in his voice, apparently not mollified.

* * *

It was snowing again when she made her way back to the Flagon. A group of children, most of them dressed in rags, were having a snowball fight in the middle of the street. They were shrieking with laughter and utterly mindless of the two watchmen trying to continue their patrol with decorum and serious faces.

Brianna ducked to avoid several stray snowballs, gave the two watchmen, who recognized her, an unenthusiastic salute while trying to keep her stack of books balanced, and fled through the Flagon's doors into the warmth.

Here, the soft sounds of Grobnar's lute accompanied the lively chatter of the patrons. Probably due to the snowfall, the taproom was packed. Brianna spotted Cormick and Shandra sitting next to each other at a table, looking to be deep in conversation. Neither of them so much as glanced her way. Qara was balancing trays over everyone's heads, her expression for once not entirely sullen. Brianna thought she knew why. From the look of the cloth hat Grobnar had laying in front of him and which was nearly filled with coppers, this looked to be a generous crowd.

Brianna felt far too tired to be social this night. She wove her way through the crowd, left the music and merriness behind and was walking to her room when she realized that the hallway was not as deserted as she had first thought.

"Having a riveting conversation?" she asked sweetly.

Elanee, who had been kneeling by the wall with several birds perched on her hands and arms, barely looked up.

"It is not quite the word I would use," the druidess replied.

Brianna stepped closer. The elven woman was looking worried and pained, even more so than she usually did, which was saying something. Brianna tried never to think about Elanee more than strictly necessary, given how much the woman grated on her, but she couldn't help but wonder what it was the druidess had been doing that left her pale and with dark circles beneath her eyes. The birds, she realized when she looked more closely, were finches, and from the looks of it at least two of them had emptied their bowels while using Elanee for a perch.

"I talk to them for news," the druidess explained without being prompted. "One bird does not see much, but they pass on bits of news, and I have spent the past several weeks talking to as many of them as I can about the Mere."

"The Mere?" Brianna repeated, and promptly was annoyed for letting herself be tricked into having something resembling a conversation with Elanee. The only way these ever ended was in exasperation and frustration on her part.

"I told you that my Circle had vanished. That I could not find any traces of them, scrying with the Skymirror, and that I did not succeed in contacting them in any other way I knew how. I sent animal messengers into the Mere to find the other druids, but none returned. That by itself is worrisome enough, though what I have gathered talking to the winged creatures is even more grave."

"Which is?" Brianna prompted, trying to keep her irritation with the woman in check. She hated Elanee's dramatic pauses in the middle of saying anything she considered important.

"That there is something dark in the Mere. A presence, a corruption. There is a spot, somewhere in the depths of the swamp, that scares the birds, and the other animals as well. A spot they avoid at all cost. And if I am interpreting what they tell me correctly, they have seen animals in the swamp who were driven insane. Wolf mothers who bit all their pups to death. Hares whose hearts exploded. Flocks of birds who dropped from the sky like hailstones."

"Would it affect West Harbor?" Brianna had gotten curious. This was quite a peculiar thing Elanee was describing, even though she barely believed half of it. She doubted animal messengers were the most reliable witnesses.

The druidess, however, shook her head. "As far as I understand, this spot of corruption lies deep within the unclaimed swamp, where humans do not tread."

"Then I don't understand what the problem is." Brianna shrugged. "A few birds falling from the sky is hardly a crisis."

Elanee scrutinized her. "Something evil is within the swamp, something we know nothing about, something that may be spreading, and it doesn't bother you?"

"No." Sensing this might just be a longer conversation than she had first intended, Brianna set her stack of books onto the hallway floor and sat down next to them, opposite the druidess. "I am bothered enough by Luskans trying to get me to hang, and by Shadow Priests bringing the dead to life, and by people lying to me about splinters from artifacts buried in my chest."

Elanee flinched at her words. Her fingers, smeared with bird droppings, mechanically stroked the head of one of the finches as the bird leaned into her hand.

"I did what I felt I had to do," she said after a long pause. "I do not expect you to understand. You know little of druids."

"So tell me, instead of hiding behind your rhetoric," Brianna challenged. "Tell me what exactly it is about druids that excuses all you've been doing, all the sneaking, all the lies. I'm dying to know."

Elanee sighed, leaning her head back and releasing all but one of the birds. The last one, a tiny, black and yellow colored fellow, made himself comfortable in the druidess' tangled hair.

"The druids of the Mere are more than friends of the wilderness and its animals," Elanee began, her voice so quiet Brianna strained to hear her. "We are keepers of the natural order, of the balance. You can find it everywhere if only you look closely, like the hunters who shoot enough wild to sustain themselves, but not enough to severely cripple a species. You know the Mere well enough to be aware that all of its residents, human, animal and plant, maintain a balance in order to…"

"I get it, yes." Brianna threw her hands up. "Balance. You've made your point."

She was almost disappointed that Elanee didn't react to her rudeness.

"Often, the balance I speak of is maintained naturally. A skulk of foxes killing too many rabbits during one season will find themselves hunger the next, and some foxes will die, allowing the rabbit population to recover. But when the balance cannot sustain itself, it is any druid's task and duty to restore the natural order."

"And if it can, you just stand by?" Brianna was staring blankly.

"I cannot rescue every rabbit being set upon by a fox," Elanee said simply.

"I am not a fucking rabbit."

The druidess flinched again, barely noticeable. In a gesture that appeared to stem from discomfort as much as necessity, she wiped her hands on her skirt, smearing the already stained fabric with streaks of white.

"Your case was… special," she said then.

Brianna leaned back as she stared, trying to make the druidess as uncomfortable as she could.

"Explain," she demanded.

"During the War of Shadows, when demons marched from town to town near the Mere and left destruction in their wake, we druids chose to act. The Mere itself, the natural habitat so rich with life whose keepers we consider ourselves to be, was threatened. There was so much wrongness, a feeling of such absolute evil and decay spreading through all the land, that we could not help but fight against it."

Brianna frowned. This was news.

"You were involved with the War of Shadows itself? The battle of West Harbor?"

Elanee nodded.

"During that final, terrible battle, it was us who forced back some of the fiends and gave the Neverwinter greycloaks the time to fight their way to the King of Shadows."

"Did you see him?" Brianna asked, even though she was quite certain of the answer already. "The King of Shadows? Were you there when the sword broke?"

Elanee shook her head.

"We made our stand outside of town, where we could use nature to our advantage. We trapped succubi in cages of thorns and bound them with roots. We buried a tanar'ri under a mound of earth. We kept them from rejoining their master."

She halted for a moment, her eyes large and dark, staring into the nothing.

"There was something like a tremor, a quake felt by every living being near the battle. I do not remember every detail of that day, but I do remember the way I felt when that tremor washed over me, like a shadow on my soul. It might have been caused by the breaking of the blade, or by the defeat of the King of Shadows. I don't know."

Brianna shuddered involuntarily. For a moment, she wondered why it was that the description affected her so, before she realized that she had been there, a tiny child, at the center of it all. She _had_ felt that tremor.

"What was it like?" she rasped. "The battle. What was it like?"

"Chaos," Elanee replied simply. "Utter chaos. I remember looking at your village, and all I saw was the smoke spiraling upwards and the flickering of spells. Storms of energy met in mid-air and waged war on each other. The sky was blood red, as though the inferno reached the clouds and tainted them. I heard the earth scream that day."

Brianna knew she had been far too young to be able to remember the day, but the druidess' words evoked a feeling inside her chest, constricting her breathing and echoing a dull panic. She laid one hand onto her shirt, to cover the small scar between her breasts, as though the touch would calm it.

Then she asked one last question, which, strangely, had never even occurred to her before.

"Did you see who wielded the sword?"

The druidess shook her head once more.

"I do not know. There were no githyanki involved in the battle, this much I can tell you. But we never found anyone who witnessed the climax of the battle and lived to tell of it."

Brianna found herself biting her lip hard, and forced herself to stop before her teeth drew blood. "So the sword had already been stolen when it was broken."

The last of the birds left Elanee's hair and escaped, fluttering frantically, through a partially open window. Brianna considered closing it, but the chill she felt had nothing to do with the ice and snow outside.

"We sensed the shards, days after the battle," Elanee continued. "When the magical aftershocks ceased and the earth had calmed, the elder druids were the first to realize that small turbulences remained. Many of the shards had been taken away by then, by those who buried the dead of the battle and handled its aftermath. We never knew exactly what they were, though we grew concerned when we discovered a small human child had survived the battle and was carrying a splinter beset with magical turbulence in her chest. We thought its power might taint her. The elders thought it prudent to keep an eye on her, and the task fell to me. I was instructed to watch, and never to interfere unless I had to do my duty as protector of the natural balance."

"And so you did," Brianna said, her voice without emotion. "So you did indeed."

"Until the ambush which would surely have killed you along with Khelgar and Neeshka," Elanee supplied. "I stood by and watched much over the years, often regretting my role. That night I lost my self-control and found myself in the fight before I could stop myself. Afterwards, I made the best of it."

Brianna narrowed her eyes. "If that is supposed to be an apology," she said, "you are the worst at it that I've ever seen. And I'll never understand you, still." She pushed herself to her feet, and stood.

Elanee remained silent. She looked pathetic, sitting on the floor as she was, her face sad and tired, her hair even more of a tangled mess dotted with bits of yellow fluff, her skin and clothes stained with bird droppings.

"You should have told me all of this a long time ago," Brianna said, looking down at her. "For what it's worth, I am glad you finally did, but if I ever find you withholding information from me again, I'll make you pay. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed."

With that said, she picked up her books and walked away, her head spinning with thoughts of magical battles that made the earth shake.

* * *

_Once again, West Harbor was burning. _

_Brianna wandered across the village green and watched as the flames consumed home after home. Instead of being its customary shade of red and yellow, the fire burned in a deep, ugly black. A drawn out, terrified scream echoed through the town. _

_When Brianna turned, she saw Retta Staring, Bevil's mother, fleeing from the tanar'ri Zaxis. The woman's red gown was fluttering behind her in the breeze as she ran, her graying hair slipped from its customary tight knot. The hulking blue demon caught the woman with a swipe of his claw, mid-step, and ripped her in half. _

_Brianna saw Retta die with agonizing, disgusting clarity. Droplets of blood sprayed into the fire. She heard them hiss._

_Eventually, she managed to tear herself away from the gore, and kept on wandering. She was afraid, not for herself, but for what she might witness. Her role was that of a silent observer in this dream. _

_Another cry rung in her ears, this one of a babe. Just in time she looked down and halted before she stepped on the bundle, the same bundle she knew from a previous dream. She knew that if she drew back the blanket she would find a charred infant, miraculously alive despite its injuries. _

_She stared, waiting. _

"_I found her," someone said. _

_When she looked up, Duncan was marching across the green. There were lines on his face that she had not seen there before, and his eyes were dead and black, as though his soul had been consumed by the unholy fire. _

_He crouched before Brianna, and reached for the bundle. Instead of lifting it, however, he held a small sliver of silver metal between his fingers, and as she watched, horrified, he sliced the blanket with the sliver, and then he pushed down, forcing the metal into the helpless infant's chest. _

_Brianna screamed as sudden pain in her own chest threatened to overwhelm her. She sank to her knees, her vision white. _

_When she could see again, Duncan and the babe were gone. Instead, she noticed a shadow in between the houses. _

_Elanee's eyes were as dark and dead as Duncan's had been. Her hair and clothes were badly singed. Her skin was burned. _

"_I am here," she said. _

_As Brianna stared, the woman's skin darkened, until she appeared to be nothing more than a shadow leaning against the burning wall of a barn. _

"_It is time," the shadow said._

_For what? she wanted to ask, but her tongue would not obey. _

"_Lay down, Storm," Wyl said from behind her. "Spread your legs. She watches. It is time."_

_She wanted to scream, to rage against him. Her body was frozen. When his hands clenched around her wrists, she realized that she was an observer no longer. _

"_My gift to you," Wyl said as he forced her down. "You'll never forget. You'll never stop being afraid."_

_The shadow's eyes burned as it stared at her. Its darkness consumed her, and she desperately welcomed it.

* * *

_

She found herself retching before she even full realized she was awake. Shaking, on all fours on the floor, she managed to regain control of her mind, bit by bit.

_Just a nightmare. A stupid, insignificant nightmare. _

Black fire flickered at the edge of her vision. The walls threatened to close in on her, trying to crush her. Her conscious mind forced them back. She dried her face with her sleeve and tucked her hair behind her ears. The motion helped bring her back to herself. The dream had been just that, a dream. She would be alright.

_I'll never stop being afraid. _

She froze as the treacherous thought echoed through her mind. Before she even realized what she was doing, she had pulled on her breeches and was securing her swords in their sheaths around her hips. The weapons helped in making her feel in control, less vulnerable, less of a victim. She wrapped both her still-shaking hands around the hilts for a moment, which felt so calming and familiar after so many hours spent wielding the weapons.

Then she pulled on her boots, grabbed her cloak, and left the Flagon in the dead of night.

Her feet carried her through the dark streets that led from the docks to the merchant district without her even consciously thinking about where she was headed. The moon was covered by clouds, but she guessed it to be a bit after midnight, judging by the number of sailors and dockworkers still walking the streets. She stayed in the shadows, not seeing the sense in asking for trouble, but ready to give as good as she got if one of them did spot her. A sort of nervous energy hummed inside her body and along the lines of her muscles, keeping her alert.

She felt divorced from the laughter and merriment that greeted her when she stepped inside the Moonstone Mask. Her face and thoughts blank, she handed over her weapons and paid the entry fee.

"Are you alright?" the woman who took her swords, the same one as two nights before, asked her kindly. For lack of a better answer, she nodded.

"Is Rilien here?" she asked a question of her own. The woman nodded, her pleasant face all smiles.

"Check by the fireplace, sweetheart."

By the time she saw him, he had already spotted her, and she stood in the middle of the crowded room with her hands clenched tightly as he excused himself from the crowd he had been chatting with and made his way towards her.

"This is a surprise," he said, before frowning and studying her face. "Is everything alright? Do you need my help?" He glanced around surreptitiously, as though trying to assess how much damage she might do by mixing one of his occupations with the other.

"No," she said, finding her throat to be parched. "Well, yes."

His warm hand covered both of hers, frozen as they were. She had forgotten her gloves.

"I changed my mind," she told him.

"About what?" he asked, thought she thought he already knew.

"Could you please not make this difficult?" she asked, finding herself pleading.

He looked at her for a moment longer. Then he nodded, gently separating her clenched hands and taking her right one in his left.

"Come along," he said, and led her up the stairs.


	49. The Long Road

**The Long Road**

Brianna blinked her eyes open the next morning feeling like something was missing. Only after she had contemplated the matter for several long minutes did she realize that what she felt so acutely was, in fact, the absence of the thousand or so worries which usually kept her mind occupied every second of the day.

Instead, she felt pleasantly and blessedly calm.

It was as though the part of her mind that was always analyzing, always alert and tense, had decided to curl up like a cat and enjoy a carefree nap in the sun.

It left Brianna feeling oddly like she might start floating if she breathed in too deeply.

The night before, she'd been terrified. Her mind had screamed at her that she was insane to be trying this again, that all it would lead to was more pain. She had waged a silent, internal war, clutching Rilien's hand like a lifeline, until he had stopped and turned, and taken her into his arms in the middle of the stairs.

"Someone's hurt you, haven't they?" he has asked without preamble.

She had fought the urge to push him away, thinking only of how she didn't want to talk about it, ever, to anyone. Her eyes had searched his face, so close to hers, trying to find an excuse to run. Eventually, she had, through sheer force of will, given him the smallest of nods.

And now she found herself warmly enveloped by his arms, her head leaning on his shoulder and his heartbeat slow and steady under her palm, and running was not on her mind at all.

She was even bold enough to entangle her leg with his and run her fingers from his chest to his belly, tickling him simply for the joy of touching and to find out how deep of a sleeper Rilien was.

As it turned out, the answer was _not deep at all_. She barely managed to finish the motion before she felt his arms tighten around her, and then he had pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Hm," he said, close to her ear, his voice a little raspy with sleep. "Not a bad way to wake up."

"Bet you've had better," she said dryly. She had asked him the previous night to drop the pretense, to be who she knew him to be. She couldn't have brought herself to trust him at all, otherwise. She didn't want or need the illusion of romance. Despite the fact that he had obliged, she hadn't been able to keep herself from retaining a healthy dose of skepticism.

"I've had worse, too, and plenty of it," he replied, "so hush."

With that, as if to emphasize his command, he kissed her.

She had discovered the night before that he was wonderfully talented at kissing. Even knowing that it was, in a way, a prerequisite in his line of work didn't prevent her from enjoying it thoroughly. Now, she closed her eyes and found herself sighing when he finally let her go.

"I must have done something right, I see," he teased her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

She tried not to be flustered. She'd done too much of that lately, and after all they had done only hours ago, it no longer seemed a necessary reaction. Her fingers wandered across his smooth skin once more and tangled themselves in the silver chain he wore around his neck. The charm affixed to it, silver as well and in the shape of the familiar dancer's mask, was the twin of the pin Rilien wore on his tunic when he worked. As she anticipated, her fingertips tingled with magic when she touched it briefly.

Rilien's eyes flicked downward.

"Don't fret," he said, as though to reassure her. "Ophala brings in a Sunite twice a month to renew the charms. She wont take any chances. So I'm about as fertile as a beaker of acid right now."

"Lovely," she muttered, considering the analogy for a moment before dismissing it. Then she touched the charm again. "I know, though. I can feel the magic."

"You've got training in the magical arts?" He sounded surprised. "By the Lady, what _don't_ you do?"

Her fingers kept moving, and she felt the current of magical energy streaming through the metal, a constant, gentle tingling sensation. "I haven't got training, no. It's just something I can do, sensing magical things."

"Have you always been able to?" he asked, sounding interested. His hand briefly brushed hers, and the tips of his fingers stroked slowly along her arm, causing the fine hairs in his path to stand on end. His touch was gentle and playful, light as a warm wind in summer and just as wonderful to feel on her bare skin. There had been a lot of this same sort of touching the night before. She still couldn't quite get enough of it.

Finally, she remembered the question.

"Ever since I can remember, yes," she breathed.

"So what does it feel like?"

She thought about it for a moment, trying to put the feeling into words.

"It's hard to say. Strange. Alive, somehow. It itches, sometimes, but not right now. This one's very calm, and passive."

"So it's different depending on the sort of enchantment?" he wanted to know.

Her fingers halted in their movement. She looked down at him, surprised. The thought hadn't occurred to her before.

"Yes," she said eventually. "I guess it is. It's very subtle though."

"Oh, sweet Brianna," he murmured, taking her hand and pressing a kiss on her palm. "You are a fascinating creature."

That made her smile. "And you're full of it," she replied evenly.

"Eager to please, though." Before she could react, his hands were firmly around her waist, and then he had turned her onto her back and was smiling down at her. "Or would you disagree?"

"No," she croaked when he dipped his head and tasted her skin, just above her collarbone. The strange, fluttering ache he caused in her belly made itself known again, just like it had the previous night, when it had been an almost constant presence. The touch of his hands was like silk on her skin, and as his mouth made a path down her body, she felt herself flushed with pleasant warmth. She knew he would stop at a moment's notice if she wanted him to, and in fact he had done just that several times, before, and so she relaxed and actually smiled a little, enjoying the sensations.

Then, hovering just above her belly, he stopped and turned his head to press his ear against her skin. She yelped as a bit of stubble on his chin scratched her.

"Your stomach is growling at me, my sweet," he informed her gravely.

"Oh," she said, and felt rather silly.

"Yes, oh. We can't have that." He pressed another kiss to her belly and pushed himself up onto his arms. "I'll get you to a decent breakfast, if you like."

"I like," she told him, finding suddenly that she had quite the appetite.

He handed her her clothes, and she dressed, sitting up in bed, watching at the same time with some regret as Rilien slipped on his tunic and breeches. Though he was not impeccably handsome, there were certainly worse places to rest her eyes. His height gave the illusion of lankiness, and his light, unblemished skin had a quality of boyish smoothness to it, but beneath he was all strength and agility. She had found that out beyond a doubt during the previous night.

"You should feel honored," Rilien informed her, leading her through a half-hidden door in the corridor and down a narrow set of stairs that were much more plain than what she had seen so far of the Moonstone Mask. "Regular customers don't generally get to see this part."

"Will this get you into trouble?" she wanted to know, following him through another door at the bottom of the stairs.

He shook his head. "Not if you behave yourself, kitten. We're to use our own discretion with who we bring back here. Friends, sometimes. Not usually those who pay to be here, though."

She slapped his shoulder.

"Enough with the pet names," she growled.

He grinned broadly and opened yet another door. Laughter greeted them, and when Brianna stepped into the room behind Rilien, she found herself near one end of a long table, populated by the same women and men who turned the Mask into such a lively place during the night. They all looked a little different in the daylight, less glamorous and a whole lot more tired. The women wore simpler hairstyles and plainer gowns, which looked to be far more comfortable than the low-necked, figure-hugging and richly decorated dresses she had admired on them before.

The large table was laden with fruit, bread, cheese, cold cuts of meat and other delicacies, making her stomach growl again.

"Have a seat," Rilien invited her, and she moved to an empty spot on one of the benches while trying to remain as invisible as possible. She did not quite manage, though.

"Who've you brought to join us, Rilien?" one of the women on the opposite bench asked. When Brianna risked a glimpse across the table, she thought that the blond beauty looked very much like the girl who had approached Bishop when they had all gone to the Mask two nights ago.

"Don't you recognize her, Mandra? Shame, that is." Rilien clucked his tongue as he placed a plate and a cup in front of Brianna.

"I recognize her," someone announced to her right. This was the woman who stood by the door and took payment every night, thought she looked different with her rich brown curls tied back with a simple ribbon and her cream-colored skin free of paint and shimmer. "She asked for you last night."

"She's a friend," Rilien elaborated as he climbed onto the bench next to Brianna. "Remember that menace Moire, and when we all heard the story of how a young Watch lieutenant finally did her in? Well this is her, here."

Brianna felt the blood creeping into her cheeks. She kept her head low and reached for the bread.

"That was you? Never!" the brunette woman exclaimed, taken aback. "I thought you'd be taller. Though I wondered about the swords you came in with, I'll admit. Didn't think you could use them."

"It's good you didn't put it to the test then, isn't it, Evi?" someone else asked, and a chuckle ran around the table.

Rilien grinned too as he loaded his plate with food.

"Brianna, this is Evlyn," he introduced the brunette woman. "As you know she's the first thing people see when they come in the door. She's got a talent for reading people, generally."

"I'm good at spotting those who might cause trouble," the woman explained to Brianna. "Cheese?"

She held out the platter. Brianna accepted it with an experimental smile.

"Then there's ah, Mandra," he indicated the blond girl opposite her, "and Teelah, next to her, thinks she's a dancer, that one…"

The woman in question, a copper-haired beauty, flicked a half-eaten strawberry at him, to general amusement. Rilien blew her a kiss in return. Brianna was sure the woman had been the one dancing to the bards' tunes by the fireplace.

"I remember you," she said therefore, trying to be polite and keeping Rilien's words about behaving herself in mind. "You dance very well."

"Thank you kindly," Teelah smiled, looking honestly pleased, and immediately afterwards stuck her tongue out at Rilien. "See? Someone appreciates me, you uncultured buffoon."

"Oh, gods, Brianna, you don't know what you've done!" Rilien mockingly clutched his head in his hands. "She won't shut up about this for days now."

As laughter rung through the room again, Brianna chewed on her bread with cheese, which turned out to be surprisingly delicious. The mask entertainers ate well, though obviously simpler than the guests.

"I don't understand it," her ears caught a comment from Evlyn. "You and Tamlin, always going on about how Teelah can't dance when even a blind man could see how graceful she is."

"We mock because we love," another male voice explained dramatically, and a slender blond half-elf was welcomed into the room to raucous cheers.

"Tamlin," Rilien told Brianna.

The half-elf spread out his arms and bowed deeply before finding a seat to ringing applause. Brianna threw a questioning glance at Rilien, but he only grinned.

"We want details!" Mandra squeaked, but Evlyn raised her voice almost immediately.

"No we don't! We could all hear them moaning through the entire building!"

"The east side, maybe," another woman weakened the argument. "_I _didn't hear anything." She looked disappointed about it.

Tamlin, meanwhile, had reached for food.

"I apologize," he said in between bites from a piece of cold meat, "for being so extraordinarily talented."

As he was shouted down, Brianna felt Rilien's lips suddenly brushing her earlobe.

"A Blacklake lord and his wife," he explained in a near-whisper. "This can't leave the room, of course, but we enjoy a good bit of gossiping sometimes."

"She found herself grinning. "Yes, I'm noticing that."

He grinned and kissed her cheek before going back to his food.

During the rest of the meal, Brianna found herself laughing along with everyone else a good dozen times, and she heard several stories of intimacy the likes of which she'd never even encountered before. Most of them ended with some embarrassing mishap in the middle of passionate coupling. She even managed to fluster Rilien for once, calling him "puppy" in front of everyone at the table in retaliation for his repeated use of "sweet Brianna".

"That is the best name for him!" Teelah exclaimed in the middle of laughing herself silly. "That describes him _exactly_!"

"Doesn't it though?" Brianna grinned at Rilien, who had lowered his head to hide his blush. "You _said_ I could call you puppy."

"I've never regretted anything quite so much," he admitted, shaking with laughter himself. "Oh, my darling kitten, my sweet emerald-eyed ice queen, my fierce warrior beauty…"

She launched herself at him in an effort to cover his mouth with her hand. He fended her off, barely.

"You are quite something," he finished, and before she realized it he had pulled her close and kissed her on the mouth to more cheers.

Afterwards, he led her up to the common room so she could retrieve her swords. They were locked in a trunk in a small room near the entrance. When she took them up, she found Rilien looking at her oddly.

"What?" she asked.

"Will I be seeing you again, then?" he asked, raising his hand as to barely brush her cheek.

She shrugged, trying to ignore the way her pulse sped up at the touch.

"I suppose you might," she said. "Though, to be honest, my budget won't allow for me to start visiting the Mask on a regular basis."

"That isn't what I meant." His thumb brushed along the side of her jaw. "I haven't asked Ophala for an evening off in a long time. I could though, if you… if you'd like me to."

She had never witnessed him fumbling his words before.

How was it he made her feel like a silly girl and a grown woman at the same time?

"Maybe," she said, feeling suddenly warm, and strangely jittery. "I'll think about it."

"Good," he said, and kissed her thoroughly. "Think all you need to and let me know. Now run along, before they miss you at that tavern of yours."

He led her out a side door, where a little girl of maybe eight years, barefoot and dressed in rags, waited, jumping up and down when she spotted them.

"Hey Rili!" she shouted, smiling.

"Rili?" Brianna arched an eyebrow at him.

"Better than 'puppy', for sure," he muttered, and bent down to tousle the girl's hair.

"Got a message, Dory?"

The girl proudly handed over a folded and sealed piece of parchment, and Rilien tossed her a copper for payment.

"Be back before noon to get the reply for another," he instructed her, and she nodded. As she ran off with surprising speed, Rilien turned to Brianna.

"Urchins," he explained, though she hadn't asked. "Ophala lets them sleep in the kitchen sometimes, when it's so cold they'd freeze to death on the streets. This group's quite well behaved, for street rats, and we've all got a bit of a soft spot for them."

"They run messages for you?" she asked, as though it wasn't obvious.

He nodded and frowned at the parchment.

"I've got to get this to Ophala, so you'll have to excuse me from here. Get home safe, my sweet."

He kissed her once more and, while she still felt her breath coming short, made his way back into the building, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Puddles of snowmelt lined the streets on her way home, and it was all Brianna could do to prevent her boots from being soaked as she gingerly picked her way across a multitude of cobblestone islands. The schizophrenic nature of winter in this city was getting tiresome fast.

The Flagon, as usual, was quiet at this time of day. When Brianna's eyes swept the room upon entering though, she noticed something that seemed out of place. Qara, usually not one to spend her time in the company of anyone else in the taproom, was sitting at a table with Shandra. What was more, the sorceress seemed pale and upset.

"Trouble?" Brianna asked Neeshka, who was lounging by the bar with her injured hand submerged in a bowl filled with some strong-smelling liquid.

The tiefling looked at her oddly.

"You could call it that," she finally replied. "A couple of the students from the Academy showed up looking for a fight. Found it, too."

"Students?" Brianna was surprised. "But she hasn't been there in ages. Why are they coming after her?"

The tiefling shrugged. "Beats me. I agree though, unless Qara's been sneaking out at night putting frogs into their beds, their timing's a little odd. Anyway, they didn't do much. Shandra and Khelgar were out here, so they both got their weapons out, and Duncan yelled a bit, and those students just sort of slunk away when they realized they were outnumbered. And if you think I'm not dying to know where the hells you spent the last night, you are seriously overestimating my restraint."

Brianna found herself smiling at the thought of a calm and patient Neeshka as she took a seat. Across from her, the tiefling's face displayed the exact opposite emotions.

"Seriously, tell me already. I got a little worried, even. It isn't like you to just run off."

"You do it all the time," Brianna pointed out.

"That's different. Now talk, already."

By now, the heat in her cheeks had gained a measure of familiarity. She had done far more than her shard of blushing over the past two days.

"I was with Rilien," she muttered.

"What!"

Neeshka's shriek drew the attention of everyone else in the taproom. Qara and Shandra turned briefly, Shandra giving a wave in Brianna's direction, while the sorceress merely glared. A patron sitting close to the south wall gave them a bemused look.

Neeshka, meanwhile, had lowered her voice considerably.

"Bree, did you do what I'm thinking you did?"

The damn smile was compulsory whenever she thought of the past night. She couldn't keep it off her face for the life of her.

"Yes," she admitted.

Neeshka launched herself forward, flinging droplets of liquid in all directions as she threw both arms around Brianna, who returned the brief hug.

"Was it good?" Neeshka nearly knocked the bowl to the floor as she got settled again. "He's good, isn't he? Oh, I bet he is. Tell me all about it."

"I don't… I…" Brianna tripped over her words. She took a deep breath. The heat in her cheeks refused to recede.

Neeshka wore her very broadest grin.

"Ah," the tiefling said wisely. "That good?"

Brianna finally found her voice.

"Yes," she said clearly, and Neeshka squeezed her arm with excitement and affection. "Thing is, he's asked to see me again, on his own time. And I don't quite know what to think of it."

Neeshka's smile turned seamlessly into a frown. "He did? Well that's interesting."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, just that it doesn't usually happen. Ophala won't like him turning a client. I guess, well…" The tiefling paused and raised her good left hand in the usual gesture of scratching her horns. "Seems he's a little more fond of you than is proper."

"This'll get him into trouble?" Brianna didn't like the implications of it, thought she was more than ready to clash with Ophala over the issue if need be. She was not certain how much of her thoughts were showing on her face, though the tiefling's eyes suddenly widened.

"You like him," Neeshka realized. "You like him a whole lot."

She supposed the tiefling might have a point. She enjoyed his kisses, and a heat inside her flared up every time she thought of going to the Mask to see him again. She _wanted_ him to be fond of her, and it unsettled her.

"I might," she muttered.

"Oh." Neeshka splashed some more liquid before settling back and regarding Brianna with thoughtful eyes.

"It doesn't bother you what he does for a living?" the tiefling asked eventually.

"Um." Brianna stared at the floor. "I hadn't given it much thought yet." In fact, she didn't particularly want to. The warm feeling of elation hadn't dissipated completely yet, and she wanted to enjoy it for as long as she could.

"Well, as long as you're not hoping to marry him, I don't see why you should behave like a chaste princess if you've finally found someone you like to be in bed with," Neeshka said quite reasonably.

"But…"

_How do I know?_ Brianna was about to ask, though before she could get the words out the front door flew open to, quite dramatically, reveal Sand.

The moon elf was walking as fast as he could while still retaining his dignity. His fine dark hair flew, for once not perfectly neat, and settled around his shoulders when he stopped before Brianna.

"Pack your bags," he told her.

She frowned at him. "Sorry?"

"Pack your bags," he repeated. "Your exemption has just been approved. Starting today, we have little more than a tenday to travel north and gather all the evidence we can to prove your inncence at the trial, so we need to leave as soon as you can gather your merry band."

The feeling of elation inside her shrunk and vanished within seconds while she stared at the moon elf.

Part of her, irrationally, wanted to tell him where he could shove his trial.

Then she got a grip of herself and clung to the necessity of what needed to be done to find her way back to her common sense.

"Very well," she said, finding her voice to be rough and cold. She felt empty. "Neesh, help me gather everyone. We'll be ready to go in an hour."


	50. Displacement

**Displacement **

Brianna had never particularly cared for the cold season. Back in Neverwinter, the sporadic snowfall had been an annoyance, but she had spent much of her time indoors and away from the cold and wet conditions. Now, as they would have to investigate the slaughter of Ember, she was not going to have that same luxury.

The two day's journey north had given her no more than a taste of the climate that expected them in Port Llast. The quaint harbor town on the border to Luskan did not have Neverwinter's luck of being located on the mouth of an unnaturally warm river. As a result, here the winter was brutally cold.

A constant icy wind chilled Brianna to the bone as she waited outside the only inn in town large enough to accommodate their entire group. Not only was she decked out in her all-new fur-lined clothes, but in addition to her armor and padding she also wore two undershirts, one cotton and one silk, and layers of hose of the same materials beneath her breeches. Despite her efforts, she felt as though she may as well have been wearing nothing at all and the cold would have numbed her skin just the same.

From the looks of it, Neeshka seemed to be as miserable, or more so. The tiefling was wearing at least as many layers as Brianna. Her tail was clamped rigidly around one leg, and her pale lips shook.

"If S-Sand doesn't h-hurry this up-p, I'll k-k-kill him." The baseless threat left the tiefling's lips amidst puffs of breath vapor.

Brianna silently agreed. The moon elf had entered the inn by himself to negotiate a price for their rooms, in an attempt to close the deal before the innkeeper realized who he would be housing. Granted, the occasional group of adventurers or hands for hire armed to the teeth was not the strangest of sights in these parts, and even Neeshka's tail and horns might not do more than raise a few eyebrows.

No, the real problem had turned out to be something quite different.

Brianna had first heard the name from Sand's lips, who had picked it up from a guard manning the gate.

"They call me _what_?" she had asked, staring at him in horror.

"The Butcher of Ember," he had repeated, obviously not enjoying saying the words any more than she enjoyed hearing them. "You have apparently made quite the name for yourself up here. The slaughter is on everyone's lips, with Ember being so close to Port Llast, and it seems as though for the past two days, your description has been passed around along with the rumors. Presumably, Captain Brelaina was finally forced to put information about the accusation and trial on the public record."

Almost immediately, it had dawned on her that this was bound to make life a lot harder for her from now on.

The same thing seemed to have occurred to Shandra. The blond woman now stepped close to Brianna, frowning deeply, but not looking nearly as uncomfortable as the tiefling. Brianna wagered a guess that Shandra was used to enduring hard winters from Highcliff.

"This isn't a good start, is it? What if they refuse to quarter us?"

_What indeed?_

"I'm trying not to think about it," Brianna replied. "I don't fancy making camp beside a snow drift, to be perfectly honest."

Shandra's expression didn't change. "Sand better know what he's doing,"was all she said in reply.

"Oh my!" shouted a high-pitched voice. Grobnar, wrapped in a brown scarf twice as long as his entire body, attempted to warm himself by hopping up and down like a demented rabbit. His frizzy hair stood wildly on end in the breeze. His lute, unstrung as to protect the instrument from the weather, bounced on his back. "I went and forgot how chilly the north can be. Brrr!"

Nobody had expressly invited the gnome along. Brianna was not even certain how Grobnar had known they would be leaving, but when she had lugged her hastily-tied pack to the taproom, he had stood there along with everyone she had asked to come along, nearly giggling with excitement.

She hadn't wasted her time on trying to convince him otherwise. With a shrug, she had nodded at Sand, and they had made for the road.

Others had refused the invitation. In a fit of kindness, Brianna had offered a spot in the group to Qara, who had been so upset about the students from the Neverwinter Academy coming to teach her a lesson. She had thought it might help for Qara to get away for a while. The sorceress had refused the offer outright, though. Standing in the bitter cold now, Brianna thought that this had likely been one of the few smart choices Qara had made lately.

She had asked Duncan to keep a close eye on the girl, and extracted a promise from Casavir as well. The paladin had also stayed behind. Brianna had not asked him in the first place. As long as it cost him most of his strength to lift his weapon, he was more of a liability than an asset. She would rather have him recover back in Neverwinter than waste himself on trying to help her here. She had explained as much to him, and though he obviously had not been happy about her choice, he had submitted to it.

Of course, what she hadn't brought up was the fact that she had not quite forgiven him for refusing to help her. If the paladin was keeping secrets from her, he could do it on his own time.

Lost in thought as she was, her eyes wandered aimlessly and eventually met Bishop's. The ranger was leaning against the east wall of the building near the corner, as sheltered from the wind as anyone was likely to be around here. Outwardly, he appeared impervious to the cold.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Pull up your hood," he said.

"Hm?" She stared stupidly.

"Pull up your hood. You…" He broke off and sighed, rolling his eyes with exasperation.

That was when she realized that the group of guards who had been patrolling the town's streets had stopped in their tracks and were staring at her, quietly talking amongs themselves.

"Blast," she muttered, and lifted her hands to cover her hair with fur and fabric. By now it was too late though. The guards were approaching, a group of five burly, armed men and one wiry-looking woman, anger and contempt on their faces.

"Trouble," Neeshka warned, and a slight shift went through the group as they all readied themselves to draw their weapons at a moment's notice. Brianna's gloved hands were tightly wrapped around the hilts of her swords as she stepped forward.

"Can I help you?" she asked, coolly, but with as much politeness as she could muster.

"We know it's you," one of the guards said. There was nothing but hostility in his voice. "The Butcher of Ember. Can't believe you're showing your face here. And we aren't about to let a murderer run loose in our town."

"I had friends in Ember," the woman added. "They're dead and rotting now. I won't sit back and let you parade around disrespecting them."

Brianna did some quick calculations. There were six of them, and six on her side. Grobnar likely was not about to be particularly helpful, but Bishop and Khelgar were both easily worth two guards. In terms of numbers, they held a slim advantage.

In every other sense though, a fight on the streets of Port Llast in broad daylight would cause them nothing but problems. The innkeeper was sure to refuse them quarter if they went cutting down guards, especially with no way for them to prove they had been attacked without provocation. She was sure a Neverwinter court would equally not be impressed with her name being connected to any more killings. This would be a strike against her if the Luskan Ambassador found out about it and brought it up at the trial.

So she forced herself to ease the death grip on her swords and took a few deep breaths.

_How to convince a miniature mob out for revenge to stand down?_

"You are under the command of Haeromos, correct? The First Captain?"

Mentioning a higher authority might help, especially since the guards had to be aware they were breaking the law, doing this. Sand had mentioned the name of the First Captain on the journey here, as they would most certainly benefit from the cooperation of the de facto leader of Port Llast. The guards barely reacted to her mentioning their superior, however.

"We are," one of them finally confirmed. "So? What does it matter?" He had his sword drawn, his dark eyes full of hatred.

Brianna choose every last one of her words with utter care.

"It matters because I am about to go and talk to Haeromos. He swore to protect and uphold the laws of Neverwinter, the same you did."

One of the men started forward.

"You murderous bitch, don't talk to me of laws," he snarled. She stood her ground, raising her chin.

_Change of tactics. _

"Wouldn't it be a bit stupid to expect me to be easy pickings?" she asked him bluntly. "After all, if you think me guilty, then I murdered an entire village in cold blood and surely could stand my own against you. And if I didn't do it, you would be murdering an innocent woman. Think on this, please."

He stopped, his lips a thin line, his eyes burning.

_Now he's listening, at least. _

"I intend to prove my innocence," she said, loudly and clearly, so none of them could pretend to have misheard. "Before a court of law, as is the proper and honest thing to do." She swallowed hard. "If they find me guilty, I will surely hang. And everyone will know the verdict, beyond a doubt."

"I used to do a merchant run every year, through Ember and Post Llast, you might remember me selling my wares in years past, if you care to. I had friend in Ember, too." Somewhat surprisingly, Shandra had come to her aid. "I am looking for justice, too. But drawing weapons here isn't it."

The woman appeared to be the most sensible of the bunch. She was the first one to sheathe her weapon.

"Come on," she said to the others. "She's not worth it."

One by one, they stepped back. Brianna barely dared breathe until they had all turned and were marching down the road in the direction of the garrison.

"Bloody hells," Neeshka muttered, just as Brianna finally exhaled deeply.

"Thank you," she said to Shandra.

The woman, who had gone pale, nodded.

"I didn't want any bloodshed," she said simply.

"Should have just cut them all down and be done with it," Bishop muttered.

Brianna arched an eyebrow at him. "That desperate to see me hang, are you? Killing them would have been stupid, and I'm pretty sure you know that."

"I might," he admitted, then his lips suddenly curved up into a cruel smile. "Would have been fun, though."

She shook her head at him and turned away.

Sand's appearance at the top of the steps leading to the inn couldn't have been more welcome. He had Jaral draped across his shoulders like a living stole. As the wheat-colored cat kneaded his shoulder with his paws and looked utterly unhappy to be back in the cold, the wizard waved her close.

"Keep your hood up," he instructed her. "Until we have talked to Haeromos, we are on shaky ground. The guards may already know your face."

"Oh, really?" she found herself descending into humorless sarcasm. She minded his words though and tried to hide her face as much as possible as they entered the Alliance Arms Inn.

* * *

An hour later, Brianna's worries were at least partially alleviated. Nobody had accosted her after she had shed her outer layer of clothing in the warm common room. The innkeeper, a man named Falgor, had even served them mulled wine to help warm them up after their long wait out in the cold, and Sand had immediately used the opportunity for several strategic moves.

Khelgar, for example, had been instructed to get all the rumors and gossip he could out of the innkeeper. The dwarf, of course, had been happy to accomplish this by ordering one drink after another, and soon he was chatting animatedly with the wiry man amidst downing large quantities of ale.

Grobnar, meanwhile, had been put to work playing his lute. Not only was this the only sensible thing anyone could think of having him do, but as there was no other bard currently at the inn, this endeared the group a little to innkeeper Falgor. Whether or not Grobnar managed to keep an ear out for rumors, as he had been instructed to do, at least he was out of everyone else's hair.

Bishop, of course, had not been asked to help out, as nobody would have expected him to comply anyway. The ranger had had quite an averse reaction to Sand's suggestion that he keep his wolf out of sight to avoid attracting the wrong sort of attention, and Brianna had not seen him after his explicit suggestion of what wolves might do to moon elves who made the mistake of not minding their own business.

Brianna herself had spent the past hour discussing their next logical steps with Sand. They would have to talk to Haeromos early the next morning. A rumor about an eyewitness to the slaughter being in protective custody at the garrison had already reached their ears. They agreed on it being wise to investigate this before heading out to Ember itself.

Brianna was not looking forward to the trip.

After their discussion, Sand announced his retreat to a quieter spot, and Brianna decided to rejoin everyone else in the common room.

Grobnar was performing a slow ballad, his voice surprisingly high and sweet in harmony with the strings of his lute. A small crowd had formed near the gnome.

Falgor was busy supplying Khelgar with yet more alcohol. With grim satisfaction, Brianna watched the innkeeper wave the dwarf closer as he shared some secret or another in a low voice while covering his mouth with his hand. Khelgar, listening intently, gulped down a good third of the fresh tankard in one go.

She walked past the dwarf and towards the table where Shandra and Neeshka were sitting, chatting with two women who were apparently also staying at the inn. Neeshka waved and pulled up a chair for her as she stepped closer.

"There she is," the tiefling announced. "My friend Bree." She pulled Brianna down onto the chair by her arm and indicated a woman whose straw-colored hair had been cut short as a boy's, and who might in fact have passed for a member of the opposite sex if not for her ample chest. "Meet Calindra. She's a miner, all the way from Amn down south. Was just telling us what she's doing up here in the cold."

Brianna nodded to the woman politely, and received the same gesture in return.

"And this here's Malin, a local ranger."

Neeshka pointed towards the other woman, who seemed very feminine in contrast with Calindra, with long lashes, sensual lips and strawberry-blond hair tied back with a ribbon. Her slightly pointed ears marked her clearly for a half-elf.

"Local, you say?" Brianna perked up. Of course they had Bishop along, who knew a thing or three about the area, but it couldn't hurt to get a second opinion on such matters from someone who had to know.

"Mhm," Malin confirmed calmly, propping her chin on the palm of her hand. "Traveled and hunted around this area my entire life. Why, you have any questions?"

"I do, indeed." Brianna stood once more as an idea came to her. "Tell you what, you let me buy a round of drinks for the five of us and then I'll ask."

Over glasses of mulled wine and Luskan whiskey, Malin described the surrounding area in detail, including the nearby Duskwood.

"A strange place," she admitted. "Makes my skin crawl to go there nowadays. It's like the trees want to keep you out, and no mistake. Used to be game there, but no more. Now it's best avoided by anyone with sense."

"Brilliant," Calindra muttered. "Course that's exactly where that fool partner of mine said he found an ore deposit. Stupid idiot makes me wait for him while he goes and messes with a bunch of _trees_."

A small smile appeared on Malin's features. "I did hear tell that another dryad was spotted in the grove lately," she mentioned, her voice innocent.

Calindra groaned and banged her forehead on the table with vigor.

Shandra leaned forward. "Dryads? Those really do exist around here? I've heard rumors, of course, but…"

"Oh, they exist just fine," Malin assured her. "Attack you something vicious too when you hurt their trees, so I hope for your partner's sake he did not attempt to cut one down on his mining adventure."

Calindra made a face. "Lousy lecherous idiot fool," she grumbled, and downed her whiskey.

"Oh, he'll be back for sure, though maybe a little worse for wear." Neeshka reached out and, in an uncharacteristic gesture, patted the other woman's hand. "Don't take it so hard. Show me a man who's not ruled by what's in his pants, and I'll show you a miracle."

Malin's laugh was surprisingly bitter. "Trust me, it gets plenty worse when that's _not_ all that drives them."

Brianna, who had been sipping on her wine, studied the other woman across the rim of her glass. She was not about to mention how very much she objected to this statement.

"Bad experience?" she asked instead.

The woman ranger's face darkened. "Yeah," she said. "And no, I've got no desire to talk about that one." She spat out the last two words like a curse.

"More drinks, I think." Neeshka had stood up in an obvious effort to break through the sudden awkwardness. "We should try the spiced rum next." She sidled off to pester the innkeeper.

"You have a man?" a gloomy-sounding Calindra asked Shandra in the meantime. The blond woman shook her head.

"Never needed one to keep my farm, so I never gave it much thought."

"Ah," Calindra nodded. "Lone farmer, eh? Except for the occasional…?"

"Very occasional." Shandra underlined the first word with her index finger, jabbing wildly at the air. "You haven't seen Highcliff."

"I have," Brianna reminded her dryly. "And I'm not surprised."

"It's the way to do it though," Calindra opined and ran her fingers through her hair, causing the short strands to stand wildly on end. "My passion's mining, not chasing after some fool man. Especially not one who gets himself lost in the Duskwood. Damn it, Bradbury," she growled, and slapped the table with the palm of her hand.

"He'll turn up," Shandra tried to reassure the Amnish woman.

"He'd better." Calindra stared at her empty glass with a look of frustration, then her eyes snapped up to scrutinize Brianna.

"What about you? You got yourself a man?"

Brianna shook her head.

"Yes she does," Neeshka's voice contradicted her. "Kind of, anyway."

Brianna glared at the tiefling, who was balancing five filled mugs in her good hand and the crook of her arm while wearing her broadest grin.

"I do not," she corrected the tiefling, whose grin, if that was possible, grew even broader.

"Do too. Or was that your evil twin sister who couldn't stop smiling that morning, because…"

Neeshka ducked her head and bit her lip under Brianna's glare as she set down the drinks, but her smile didn't quite vanish.

"Oh, I must have missed that." Shandra sounded regretful. "Is it Cormick? It's Cormick, isn't it? The way he always looks at you…"

Brianna nearly spit her spiced rum back into the mug in surprise.

"What?" she spluttered. "Hells, no, it's not Cormick."

Shandra muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Good," as she took a healthy swig of rum.

The opening to a fast reel rang through the tavern. People applauded as Grobnar, changing his demeanor completely from one moment to the next, stood and wildly nodded his head while playing his heart out. As several spectators obligingly clapped and stomped a rhythm, pairs of dancers began to form out on the floor.

"Goodness." Malin had leaned sideways to try and get a better look. "Quite the fierce little bard you lot brought with you. Didn't think he had it in him, but this place is livelier than I've seen it in weeks."

"He does sing well," Brianna acknowledged. "Just don't ask him to tell a story, because halfway through you'll find yourself contemplating gory violence against gnomes."

"Noted." Malin smiled. "We'll keep him singing then."

They sat and listened to the music for a while longer. Brianna, oddly, found herself wishing she was back in the Moonstone Mask, that it was Teelah dancing to the lively tune and Rilien sitting on the chair opposite Brianna's, calling her by ridiculous nicknames just to tease a smile from her.

She had not had a way to contact him and let him know of her leaving, which meant she now fervently hoped he would not think she had changed her mind on seeing him again. And he would not know where she had gone, unless, of course, rumors about the Butcher of Ember started flying in Neverwinter as well…

"Oh gods," she said blankly, when the full horror of it finally dawned on her.

"You alright?" Calindra regarded her carefully, and Malin and Shandra threw her looks of concern. Neeshka had wandered off again to fetch yet another round.

"Yes," she said, which was a complete lie. Her head felt painfully hot.

_He's going to think I murdered a village. _

"Hells," she said and pressed the palm of her hand to her burning forehead.


	51. Diplomacy

**Diplomacy**

Brianna was not feeling any more cheerful the next morning, when she was sitting on a hard bench in the garrison next to Sand, freezing miserably while listening to the wind rattling the building's shutters and doors.

She had come unarmed. It had been Sand's suggestion to attempt to show their good intentions this way, in order to elicit the First Captain's cooperation.

Haeromos, however, was having none of it.

Not that she had expected mulled wine and sugar biscuits, especially after the incident with the guards the previous day, but she had thought that Haeromos, who had to have received Captain Brelaina's writ on the matter, would be inclined to view her with a little less bias. But their unpleasant wait seemed to suggest otherwise.

"Luskans keeping you busy, so close to the border?" Sand asked with an audible edge in his voice.

The First Captain, busy writing in some log and trying to ignore them, glanced up briefly.

"They always do, seeing as how controlling our harbor would put them into an excellent position to mount surprise attacks on Neverwinter, or even Waterdeep. But I am sure someone as educated as you knows that already." He underlined a word neatly and dipped his quill into the inkwell, before pausing to glare at them both evenly. "So let me get straight to the point to save us all the time. I've no love lost for Luskan. Ember, though, wasn't a bad place, only had bad luck when the borders were being drawn."

If he didn't see the sense in beating around the bush, then neither did Brianna.

"So you are convinced I am responsible, then?" she asked, trying to keep her tone respectful. It was a difficult thing to do.

Haeromos, somehow, managed an expression that was even less friendly than his previous one when he turned his head to look at her.

"You slaughtered Ember and burned the place to the ground, and no mistake," he said. His hands held the quill so tightly that Brianna thought he might snap it in half any moment and shower his parchment, tunic and beard with droplets of ink. "And if not for Brelaina's writ, I'd have you in irons for it already. The audacity you have, showing your face here…" He shook his head, the tips of his graying hair brushing his shoulders as he did so.

"Yes," Sand said, drawing out the word as though trying to torture it, "but pesky matters of law aside, was there, by chance, a woman traveling through this quaint town of yours in the past several days making a case for Ember and against the accused? She would have smelled of cheap perfume and been wearing some assortment of clothes entirely inappropriate for the season."

Despite the peculiar choice of description, Brianna realized at once that the wizard was talking about Torio Claven, the Luskan ambassador. She would not have taken that woman for one to make the effort of walking around stirring up anti-Neverwinter sentiments. Sand, however, seemed to know the ambassador's methods better than that.

"There was a woman here," Haeromos admitted. "Some days back, talking to many of the folks here. I must disappoint you and your theories though, I did not talk to her but for a moment."

Brianna latched onto this, trying to figure him out.

"Why are you so utterly convinced of my guilt?" she wanted to know. "Nothing has been proven. The Neverwinter Watch is firmly on my side, they know me well enough to realize I would never do anything like this. They know Luskan is framing me."

Haeromos leaned forward, smudging the fresh ink on the edge of his document.

"Then why, tell me, do I have an eyewitness to the attack who described you in great detail?"

Brianna stared at the First Captain, all out of words for the moment.

They had heard, of course, that there had been a witness to the attack, but they could not have guessed how damning her evidence would be. Even Sand took a moment to gather his wits. Then the moon elf leaned forward, as though in anticipation.

"And of course, we will be given the opportunity to speak to this witness of yours, yes?"

Something changed in Haeromos' face then. It took Brianna a moment to understand the First Captain's play of emotions, the fact that even though he treated her with contempt, he was convinced he was doing the right thing. He believed Luskan's intricate deception, as he believed the testimony of whatever witness had fled to Port Llast after Ember had been attacked.

"That's out of the question," the imposing man decided, now standing as he leaned his weight on his hands, which were resting on the desk. The parchment was hopelessly smeared now. "After everything she had been through, I will not subject her to facing her would-be killer before she is forced to do so in a courtroom."

Sand's disturbingly pleasant expression did not change in the slightest.

"Good man, you know as well as I that the law requires your cooperation in this matter. You would not risk a mistrial, and for Squire Storm to be set free on a technicality instead of receiving a fair judgment, would you now?"

His fingers curling into fists, Haeromos stepped back and away from his desk.

The First Captain's eyes spewed vitriol. His jaw was clenched so tightly she could see a bulging vein running along the side of it, and Brianna immediately knew that, once he accommodated their request, they would do well not to push the man even the tiniest bit further than they already had. Haeromos was used to getting his way in matters of the law, as for the most part, he _was_ the law in the town of Port Llast. Crossing him was not the healthiest thing she had done this week.

"Ten questions," he stipulated as he walked towards a thick, secure-looking door at the back of the room. "No more than that. Any attempt to terrorize her, and you will answer to me. Any physical altercation, of any sort, and you will answer to my blade."

As he left the room, Brianna could see Sand's mind working behind the moon elf's focused eyes. Her own would not be idle, either.

"Do you think this witness is a plant by the Luskans?" she asked.

Sand frowned, shaking his head. "Unlikely. It would not be difficult – and have much less risk of discovery – if they were to produce a genuine witness of the events. I have been cultivating a theory which seems to gain merit as this investigation progresses, focusing on the assumption that it was, in fact, you the witness saw slaughtering Ember."

She turned to give him an incredulous look. "What, you think I sleepwalked into Ember and killed everyone?"

"No, dear girl, I believe someone _took_ your appearance and made it look as though it was you in this village. There are several ways of magically altering the way one looks – none of them easy to achieve or come by, but as this happens to be something of a specialty of mine, I believe I will be able to figure it out, given enough time."

"I have a much simpler theory," Brianna proposed, causing Sand to arch an eyebrow.

"Which is?"

"There were two people connected with Ember who saw enough of me to give a perfect description when I passed through the village on my way to get Shandra back. One was a whiny coward of a woman, the other a starving boy. If the Luskans got to one of them, somehow…"

Approaching steps caused her the abandon the rest of her sentence. They stood, waiting as three guards, fully armed and armored, marched through the door and formed a wall of bodies in between Brianna and Sand and the back of the room. It seemed a little excessive, but Brianna was not about to complain.

Then, Haeromos brought in the witness.

With grim satisfaction, Brianna saw that she had been right. The small woman dressed in heavy skirts with her dull blond hair in thick braids, who was clutching the First Captain's arm, was the same one they had met in the aftermath of the githyanki ambush at Ember. As they had been back then, her eyes were wide and terrified, and when she spotted Brianna, a choked sob escaped her throat and she struggled to keep walking.

Haeromos muttered to her in a low, soothing voice as he led her to sit down onto one of the hard benches that lined the walls.

"You had best stay back for this," Sand advised Brianna in a near-whisper. She was not about to object. Alaine of Ember was putting on quite a show. She did not want Haeromos to take back his cooperation if the woman lost it in the middle of the garrison because Brianna took one step too close.

"Right, Miss…" Sand paused dramatically, the silence underlined by the wind's continued howling, and turned to Haeromos, tilting his head inquisitively.

"Alaine Tanner," the First Captain snapped, and the moon elf gifted him with a paper-thin smile.

"Miss Tanner." Sand drew out the name as though trying it on his tongue. "Please tell me what you saw at Ember."

It took Alaine several attempts to find her voice. Even when she managed to get the words out, she was speaking so quietly that Brianna strained to hear her.

"It's…. it was… I was coming back from trading along the south roads. And I saw the smoke. Heard the screams. And then I saw her."

The woman weakly raised one shaking finger, pointing. Brianna felt all eyes in the room suddenly on her.

"The quartermaster… he was a good man. I saw him on his knees, begging for his life, and she laughed and just… just cleaved his head off. Just like that. I saw those with her killing children… torch the houses. Then I realized I had to run, and so I did."

Sand was thoughtfully stroking his chin, showing little reaction to the grisly details that came across the blond woman's full, trembling lips. Brianna, meanwhile, watched Alaine so closely that it amounted to a stare.

The woman either thought she was telling the truth, or she was the best damn liar Brianna had ever seen.

It was a troubling development.

Perhaps the Luskans had somehow manipulated Alaine's very mind, or else Sand was right and someone had gone through the trouble of creating an intricate magical illusion. Either way, she felt outclassed when imagining the people who might have the power to use such tactics.

_The Hosttower. It's got to be, from Captain Brelaina's description it is a cesspool full of talented mages with no scruples._

The thought made her feel small and fragile.

Sand, meanwhile, looked to be preparing to rip Alaine's statement apart as thoroughly as it was within his power to do.

"You said you saw the accused beheading the quartermaster. How? Describe the scene – in detail, if you please."

He was not mincing his words or changing his tone to a more kindly one. Haeromos' features tensed, but the First Captain remained silent and gave Alaine a nod.

"He was k-kneeling in the mud." Alaine clasped her hands in her lap and stared down at them rigidly as she spoke. "There was blood already on his face, his wife's I think, and his son not far away, forced to watch by another attacker. He was looking up at her, pleading, just pleading for his life and his son's, and she laughed and spit at him, and then she swung her weapon, and he just… he just…"

Alaine's voice faltered. Her hands shot up to cover her mouth and nose as her entire body shook visibly.

From one moment to the next, Brianna felt the anger surge through her. White-hot and powerful, it caused her own body to shake as well as she thought herself violated, felt disgusted and dirty that someone had stolen her face and gone out and beheaded people while putting fire to their houses.

She had worked so hard, for so long, to be in control of her own life and body. She was still fighting tooth and nail to be free of everything that seemed intent on shackling her and pressing down upon her, and yet someone had gone and taken that identity, her very core, and abused it as though she was some puppet to be played with and thrown in the mud.

Sand was asking something. She concentrated on his voice, trying to focus once more.

"The weapon she used. What was it? Describe it for me, girl."

His tone was still harsh, and Brianna wondered what the moon elf was trying to accomplish. He was dancing along a fine line, judging by Haeromos' face, and they would gain little if they were not allowed to finish questioning Alaine.

"It was…" Alaine paused, frowning as she apparently tried to recall. "One of these really big swords. A two-hander, I think. Made from a dark metal." Her eyes traveled to Brianna, and she was not the only one who looked. Just as the absurdity in the statement occurred to Brianna, Sand was pouncing on it.

"A two-hander, you say? How interesting." He turned to Brianna as well. "Well, you are certainly turning out to be full of surprises. I had no idea you could lift one of these _extraordinarily_ heavy weapons."

His voice was smooth as silk.

"But," Alaine shook her head helplessly, her expression one of earnest confusion, "I _saw_ you."

"Certainly you did, dear girl, but let us move on." Sand was the picture of concentration. "How did you escape, exactly?"

"I just ran." Alaine finally tore her eyes from Brianna. "I don't remember it all, I just knew I had to run, before they did to me what they did to everyone else."

"Which is a fortunate development, of course, that they left exactly a single survivor to tell of what she saw and implicate those who took part in the attack."

The hint of sarcasm in the undertone of Sand's comments was hard to miss. Once again, Brianna wondered what the wizard hoped to accomplish by alienating Alaine and the First Captain, but when the wizard threw her a lightning-quick sideways glance, she finally understood.

"She _is_ lucky to be alive, Sand," she chided him gently, using his abrasiveness to contrast her well-faked, decidedly non-village-butchering empathy.

Alaine actually nodded for a fraction of a second before she froze, remembering who she was talking to.

The moon elf had already moved on. "You said you were trading along the south roads just before the attack, yes? Is this a common thing, so late in the season?" For once, the question seemed earnest and not designed to prove a point. Brianna thought he was likely acting on a hunch.

Alaine, as well, seemed to have noticed that this question might be a bit easier to answer than the last.

"No, it isn't," she replied. "But Ember experienced a drop in shipments, just before the attack and we were running low on supplies. I was just trying to help."

"A drop in shipments?" Sand frowned. Brianna did the same, trying to puzzle out what this strange coincidence might mean. "Interesting. Where is it you usually get your shipments from?"

Alaine shrugged. "All over the place, really. Some from Luskan, some from Neverwinter. I don't know the details, the quartermaster dealt with all of that. And I don't know which of the shipments failed to arrive, either."

Brianna dug her nails into the flesh of her hand to keep herself from showing any sudden excitement when she realized what Sand was on about.

_Nobody would ship goods to a town they know is about to go up in flames. If we can prove the missing shipments came from Luskan…_

Sand turned and gave her an inviting look. "A few questions left. Is there anything you would like to ask the girl?"

One thought came to her.

"Could you describe the people who were with… the person you think to be me?"

She made sure to keep her voice pleasant, contrasting Sand's harsh questioning methods once again on purpose. There was much to be gained if she could get Alaine to doubt her own damning testimony.

"A dozen or so men." Alaine shrugged. "I can't really describe any of them in detail, I… I didn't look for too long."

Brianna bit her lip, thinking. "And when you say men, do you mean humans? Or were they of different races?"

The blond woman shook her head. "No, they were all… all human."

"Did you recognize any of them from the previous time we met, when I passed through Ember with my companions?"

Alaine shook her head again.

_Given how the only human males in my company are Casavir and Bishop, and they were both with me on that rescue mission, it means that whoever pretended to be me didn't bother to copy a single one of my companions. Just me._

For some reason, this made her feel worse instead of better.

In the silence, Haeromos' eyes wandered from Brianna to Sand and back.

"I think this has gone on for long enough," he said.

"Very well." Sand turned away without another look, but Brianna caught Alaine's eye.

"Thanks for your help," she said politely. Obviously surprised, the woman nodded, just before Haeromos led her away.

"You did well,"Sand complimented her when they had left the garrison and were once again braving the icy wind, hurrying back to the Alliance Arms Inn. "Some impressive questioning, and you certainly seeded a few doubts in her mind about what she saw."

She found herself flooding with pleasure at the compliment.

"Thank you. The same to you," she said earnestly. "I would not have caught the detail of the shipments dropping."

The wizard inclined his head.

"It _is_ good to be appreciated," he replied.

* * *

The inn's common room, with its crisply burning fire and warm drink, seemed the perfect refuge from the harsh winter day to Brianna. She relieved herself of her outer layer of clothes and spread them out to dry, joining Shandra and Malin at the fireplace. The half-elven woman was stretched out on a bearskin rug, feet comfortably propped up on the unfortunate animal's head. Her strawberry blond hair was fanned out across her back and shoulders. Shandra sat next to her, cross-legged and intent on her work as she fixed a hole in her glove with needle and thread.

"Things go well?" Shandra inquired when Brianna found herself a spot on a second bearskin.

Brianna shrugged noncommittally. "Remember Alaine?"

For a moment, the other woman appeared confused. "What Alaine?"

"From Ember." Brianna focused on trying to unlace her boots with her stiff fingers. "Said she knew you from the merchant run you make each year."

"Oh, her. Yes, of course." Shandra lowered her half-fixed glove. "Is she alright? Did she survive?"

"Yes." Brianna pulled one boot off and sighed as she glanced at the other woman. "She also thinks she saw me slaughtering her home village, so that's the bad news."

Shandra's eyes widened. Next to her, Malin gave a satisfied nod.

"Thought that was you," the woman ranger said. "The 'Butcher of Ember', right? Smells like Luskan tomfoolery to me."

Brianna threw her a thankful look.

"You don't think me guilty, then?"

Malin shrugged and tossed her long hair behind her. "I don't think anything. I prefer to stay out of that kind of business, lest I end up on the wrong side. But you seem pleasant enough to me, and I'm not one to listen to the first opinion wandering my way."

"Well, thanks." The other boot came off as well, along with her sock, and Brianna stretched her bare feet towards the fire. As the warmth thawed her toes, she sighed with pleasure despite the painful throbbing sensation.

"Sand wants us all to be packed by tonight, ready to leave after breakfast tomorrow morning," she reported to Shandra.

"Right." The woman went quiet, staring at the glove in her hand as thought she had forgotten what she had been in the process of doing. "I suppose there is no chance of begging out of this one, huh?"

"No." Brianna tried to look apologetic, even though she wasn't sorry at all. She didn't see why she should be the only to face the aftermath of the grisly slaughter. "We need a large enough group to fight our way out if we're caught across the Luskan border."

"Sensible," Malin opined, "though I don't think there's a big chance of that happening. In this weather, anyone with sense is staying…"

She broke off, her mouth dropping slightly open as she stared at something behind Brianna's right shoulder. Fast as lightning, she moved her feet from their spot and sat up.

"What, by all the rotten worgs in Duskwood, are _you_ doing here?" The disgust was evident in her voice.

Brianna's head turned fast, and her eyes fell on Bishop, who had just entered the inn, the wolf at his heels shaking the snow out of his pelt. The ranger's face was showing a very similar kind of disgust as he stepped closer.

"Look who it is. The little girl who likes to play ranger."

"Yeah, look who it is," Malin echoed. "The scum of the Sword Coast."

"I take it you two know each other," Brianna deadpanned.

"Yeah," Bishop answered after a moment of silence. "Though I can't say I relish the memories. Hope you didn't ask her for advice about the area, because she's so worthless she couldn't find a pile of shit in a pig sty. Her incompetence nearly got me killed a few times across the border."

Malin forced a bitter laugh and crossed her arms before her chest. "_My_ incompetence? That's rich, coming from you. What about _your_ single-minded obsession that landed us in hot water more than once?"

"At least I know what I'm doing." Bishop seemed annoyed now. "Don't tell me you're thinking of taking her along across the border, because if you are, I'm out of here."

The wolf had made his way to the fireplace, nudging Brianna's feet aside and laying down to warm his pelt. Startled, she pulled them back and hugged her knees to her chest.

"What?" she said then, when she realized his eyes were on her and his last words had been directed at her.

Malin's expression, meanwhile, had changed to one of thinly veiled contempt.

"He's… with you?" She stared at Brianna. "By all the flea-infested gnomes, I thought you had taste."

"And I thought you had common sense, Malin, but that assumption didn't last long." Bishop was apparently starting to enjoy himself. "And the truth is, you never had much else going for you, either. You're impatient, you're incompetent…" He shrugged and ran his tongue along his teeth, displaying a wolfish grin. "Lousy lay, too."

Wordlessly, Malin got to her feet and collected her bag.

"If you can stand his presence, be my guest," she said then, addressing Brianna and Shandra. "But I've had enough of that disgusting stench to last me a lifetime."

"So close your legs and leave," Bishop muttered just loud enough for them all to hear.

Malin vanished through the door leading to the rest of the inn and slammed the door shut behind her. Deprived of her unexpected entertainment, Brianna laid her head back and gave Bishop a look.

"Well that was interesting," she remarked, feeling brave.

Bishop, for his part, seemed to be in a better mood than usual. Maybe putting down other rangers was what it took to get him there.

"Glad you enjoyed yourself," he said, and dropped down onto the spot Malin had just vacated. Shandra, looking uneasy, inched away from him. "Are you ready to train?"

She was almost shocked by his sudden civility.

_Surefire way to placate the ranger – find female half-elves, put them in position for verbal kick in the teeth._

"Sure," she found herself saying, her lip quirking at the thought as she reached for her boots. "I'll be just a moment."


	52. Ashes on Snow

**Ashes on Snow**

As soon as Brianna set foot into Ember, she wanted to turn around and march right back to where she'd come from.

The place reeked of death. The crisp wind carried with it the stench of decay and a hint of smoldering wood, so even if the burnt-out ruins of what had once been an idyllic village hadn't been right in front of her eyes, and even if she hadn't heard the gruesome reports of what had happened here, the smell of the place would have told the tale all by itself.

She'd never seen such a complete absence of life anywhere. Even the few trees that had lined Ember had been reduced to stumps of charcoal, covered with snow as though the white blanket could hide the evidence of the tragedy.

Flashes of color shone through the ice covering the ground – a patch of brown just there, a spot of red some distance away. It gave Brianna pause for a moment before she realized the nature of the peculiarity.

These were the residents of Ember, cut down where they had stood, their cold bodies still waiting for burial.

It caused her stomach to drop and her mind to plead with her not to approach. She had dealt with an abundance of death before, back in the orc caves near Old Owl Well, when she had killed until her mind had shut down on her. But back then it had been her survival instincts driving her out of sheer necessity.

This was different. This was more than she could handle.

Sand was the first one to take a tentative step forward from where they had stopped. Jaral, curled around his shoulders, yowled in protest.

Brianna thought she would have liked to do the same.

Nevertheless, she forced herself to set one foot in front of the other, entering what had once been Ember.

"Look at this."

She had never heard Khelgar's voice trembling before. The dwarf was surveying the scene, his eyes somehow looking years older than they had just minutes ago. "They were cut down like dogs. Didn't even have weapons."

The smile that was usually etched onto Grobnar's face had vanished. The scene appeared to be more than the little bard could take. He turned away, covering his face. Even though Brianna could have sworn that Neeshka wouldn't have cared in any other situation, the tiefling sidled over to the gnome and awkwardly patted his shoulder with her uninjured left hand. They both stayed back as everyone else walked on, none of them really wanting to.

"That's… that was Alaine's house." Shandra pointed. Her voice was breaking. "And the quartermaster's, there. I… I remember, I traveled through here only last season…"

Brianna couldn't take it. She had enough trouble handling her own feelings in the matter, and no desire to listen to everyone else who was processing the very same thing. The more they talked about how horrible this place was, the more the feeling would seep through her carefully constructed mental walls and affect her on a personal level. She had no desire to be a sobbing, trembling mess in the snow.

She gravitated towards the one person who was the most detached from it all, surveying with cold, analytic eyes.

Bishop turned his head when she stepped towards him. He was standing near a body that had fallen close to what Shandra had named the quartermaster's house. A frozen solid lump wrapped in tan linens, the corpse looked to be that of a young girl.

"It was efficient," he said, and she wasn't sure whether he was talking to her, or to himself. "They secured the perimeter first, before moving in. You can tell by the way the bodies fell." He kicked the lump lightly with the tip of his boot, indicating the head. "She was running to the center of town, not away. Cut down from the back."

She forced herself to look and saw that he was right. Villagers had been running toward Ember's center, all of them panicking, not realizing they were surrounded. Each body another terrified scream, another slash of a two-handed sword, another note in the stench that the wind carried.

She breathed in deeply, forcing herself to be just as cold about the facts of the slaughter as Bishop. "Is there anything about this that looks distinctly like Luskan work to you?" she asked.

He hesitated before he answered.

"Maybe," he said then.

She waited.

"They don't usually bother trying to place blame elsewhere. This time they did, so their execution changed. Might have made a few mistakes along the way, not worked as cleanly as they ought to have. But the ruthlessness, the efficiency… yeah. That's Luskan."

For a moment, she saw a flash of something in his eyes, an emotion, or a memory. She couldn't identify it, and then he frowned, and it was gone, leaving her with the unsettling feeling that she had just witnessed something indecent and private. Still, she stared at the ranger's unshaven face as though hoping the ghost of it might flit across his features.

Malin's voice rung in her ear, even though she hadn't consciously recalled the half-elven woman in her mind.

_What about _your_ single-minded obsession that landed us in hot water more than once?_

She hadn't thought to ask back then, but now, she found herself curious about what it was Malin felt Bishop was obsessed with.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" she wanted to know, her voice subdued.

He stepped over the body and walked towards the center of the village, where Sand was kneeling near another corpse. Brianna followed.

"No magic," he said then without turning back towards her. "It was all just brute force, swords, and the fire laid with oil and torches."

She thought she understood what he was telling her. "Not the Hosttower then."

"Maybe not, but they have an astonishing number of resources to delegate the non-magical dirty work." That was Sand, who had sat back on his heels in the snow. "It would not surprise me if this here was the work of a Luskan assassin's guild."

"Supplied by the Hosttower with the ability to make it look like it was me, somehow." She frowned, considering this. "Sand, how does that work? Wouldn't they need… I don't know, a piece of me or something?"

"And they have had plenty of opportunity to get one," Sand replied. "A single dried fleck of your blood on a blade is enough to work such a spell, though the spell itself is not so easily accomplished."

There was a short barking sound. Bishop's wolf, who was probably the only living thing in the ruins of Ember currently enjoying itself, came running towards them. The animal's grey-marbled fur was glittering with frost. Still panting, he promptly started sniffing the headless body next to which they had congregated.

Sand frowned, but did not comment.

"Was this the quartermaster?" Brianna's attention had turned to the corpse, and she recalled Alaine's report. "The one I supposedly beheaded?"

"I believe so, yes." Sand, still frowning, tried to shoo away the wolf half-heartedly. "And if you look closely, you can see he fell on top of something, a ledger. I believe he was expecting the arrival of one of the missing shipments when he heard a commotion outside, and he held his logbook when he encountered whoever pretended to be you. We will need to get this log."

"Ah." Brianna stared at the lump covered in a thick layer of ice. "And how do you propose we accomplish this? Waiting for spring?"

Sand's features tensed as the wolf pawed experimentally at the ice. "Unpleasant as it sounds, we may have to let the dwarf's axe do the work."

The process of reaching the quartermaster's log was not a pleasant one. The body had frozen solid on top of the book, and Khelgar ended up not having a choice but to remove the corpse, piece by gruesome piece. Shandra turned away and ran to join Grobnar and Neeshka at the edge of town halfway through, her face pale with a greenish tinge.

The morbid task of cleaving apart a frozen corpse limb by limb was not made any more pleasant by the uncharacteristic pup-like playfulness Bishop's wolf displayed. While they all watched Khelgar do his work, their faces expressionless, the greypelt darted into their midst, snapping at Sand's robes and growling at Khelgar and Brianna in turn before running off again, tongue lolling as he dashed through the snow.

Brianna thought it was not entirely unlikely that the animal had picked up on its master's sudden good mood and was sharing it, but she knew better than to voice that theory. Instead, she arched an eyebrow at the ranger.

"What is his deal?"

Bishop shrugged. "What, Karnwyr? He's just having fun."

She frowned, silently mouthing the unfamiliar word. "Is that his name?"

The ranger nodded.

"Fun, indeed. What a lovely time for that," Sand muttered through clenched teeth.

Bishop snorted.

"It's a corpse, elf. Just as dead as the cold cuts of meat we all ate this morning. At least animals don't put up some pretense. They don't care, and neither should we."

The wolf proved the point for him. While Khelgar scraped at the bottom of the torso, trying to see what he was cutting, Karnwyr returned and stretched out between Bishop and Sand as though tired of playing. The next time Brianna looked, he was already gnawing on something.

Oddly enough, her stomach did not turn at the sight. Maybe the ranger's callous attitude had helped to numb her, as well.

"Bishop, your wolf is eating the quartermaster's arm," she pointed out calmly.

The ranger barely looked up.

"Yeah, guess he is."

A deep grove appeared on Sand's forehead. "That is disturbing," the moon elf opined.

"It's natural, wizard." Bishop, from the looks of it, didn't care to hide his smirk.

"Bit rude for my taste, though, messin' with the dead like that." Khelgar paused, resting on the handle of his axe for a moment and giving the ranger an expectant look. "Tell'em ter stop."

The ranger's mouth tightened. "He isn't a pet, dwarf, and I don't order him about."

"Not a pet? Ye named the ruddy thing!"

"He named himself," Bishop snarled. "But fine. Try it. Chances are it'll be your arm he gnaws on next."

"We'll see 'bout that," Khelgar rumbled, taking the ranger up on his challenge. He grasped the frozen limb by its hand and pulled, and the wolf dug his teeth in, growled, and joined in the tug-of-war. Karnwyr struggled to keep from losing his footing as they quarreled, but eventually it was the dwarf who slipped and toppled backwards, and next they knew the wolf was kicking snow and running far and fast, trophy firmly held between his bared teeth, while Khelgar cursed and commenced brushing shards of ice from his beard.

Brianna couldn't help it. Amidst all the dreariness, in the middle of the morbid scene, she sat down in the snow, threw back her head, and laughed. Her voice echoed through the ruined village, loud and inappropriate.

Even after they succeeded in recovering the quartermaster's log and Sand carefully wrapped up the frozen bit of evidence and placed it in his pack, they were not nearly finished in their task. The wizard insisted on stopping at every corner of every burnt-out building in order to search for clues, and even Brianna, whose life, after all, was the one at stake, did not manage to stay focused throughout all of it.

She turned instead to check on her companions.

Neeshka, Grobnar and Shandra were still waiting outside the village proper, which Brianna was not impressed by, but at the same time she had to admit that she would have joined the three of them if not for the fact hat she had Luskan breathing down her neck.

They looked to be freezing just as miserably as she was. The cold had long ago made its way through her layers of clothes, and despite her effort to keep moving, she was beginning to feel stiff and sluggish.

Some distance away, Bishop had apparently chosen to combat the cold by playing with the wolf. Brianna watched as the ranger tossed the animal's newest prize, and Karnwyr rushed to retrieve it every time. She'd never seen, or even imagined, the two of them playing games before.

_Especially not with a human forearm. _

Shaking her head, she turned to look for her last companion. Khelgar had sat down on a pile of rubble near the well in the center of the village and was busying himself with sharpening his axe. After all the work cutting through layers of ice, bone, and frozen flesh, it wasn't a wonder that the weapon had gone blunt. The dwarf went about his task with his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he handled the whetstone.

"Not very telling, all in all," Sand finally commented when he returned from inspecting the last of the charred foundations. "The attackers made no glaring mistakes in leaving something behind, no arrows or bolts, or indeed anything physical that may help us in determining their true identity. Not that I expected them to be entirely incompetent, but it would have been a convenient break."

"Yeah," Brianna agreed, trying not to feel downtrodden. "It would have been."

"No need to sulk, dear girl, as this log we found could turn out to be a rather critical piece of…"

Sand was interrupted by the dwarf's rather insistent clearing of the throat. Looking to be near the end of his patience, he turned.

"The sooner I finish, the sooner we can all get back to civilization and warmth, so I suggest…"

"There's somethin' in the well," Khelgar announced. "Or someone."

"Well, with your luck I would not be surprised if we are being spied upon." Sand tilted his head meaningfully at Brianna.

She turned away and eyed the crumbling ring of stone topped by an old winch. "In there?" She didn't bother to hide her skepticism. It was a ridiculous place to hide, especially in the middle of winter.

"Heard it," Khelgar confirmed, however.

She resolutely walked up to the well and placed her hands on both sides of the crumbling structure, leaning forward, ducking her head beneath the winch and staring down into the darkness.

"Hello?" she called.

If it was a spy, they would have alerted him – or her – already, so there was no need to be sneaky about it either way. Just when she started to suspect that Khelgar had likely hallucinated the noises, she heard a distinctive splash, followed by a scraping sound of what she guessed to be metal on stone.

"There's someone in there," she confirmed as she drew back and straightened up. "Now what?"

"If they won't come up, we'll send someone down," opined the dwarf, scratching his beard. "Who's goin', though?"

"Just toss the gnome down, he's worthless anyway," Bishop proposed. He had, from the looks of it, abandoned an exhilarating game of tossing and fetching in order to find out what they were all debating, and was now standing several feet away with his arms crossed before him.

"And what would he do, sing the spy to death?" Brianna made a face when the only possible outcome occurred to her. "It's got to be me. Sand's not dexterous enough to climb down a well and cast spells at the same time if that should become necessary – no offense, Sand – and Neeshka's injured. Everyone else is too heavy."

"None taken," the moon elf quipped belatedly. His face spelled out his relief at not having been asked to explore a dark well.

Khelgar did not appear to like the situation.

"Hope ye know what yer doing, lass," he said, taking a good look at the winch and the rope dangling from it. "This here's thin rope."

Bishop rudely pulled the strands of hemp away from the dwarf's grasp and examined them as well.

"Thin, but sturdy enough. This well was in use until just before the attack, and water's heavy. Chances are she'll make it down."

"Yeah, that makes me feel tons better about descending into a dark, bottomless pit," Brianna replied while dropping her pack into the snow. "Fine. Lower me down."

She checked her weapons before climbing up onto the well's uneven edge. As she did so, several pebbles came loose and tumbled down the well shaft, their echoes in the depth an unnerving sound.

"Blast it," she muttered, placing her feet in the bucket and reaching for the rope as she contemplated how she had managed to get herself signed up for this. "If you lot drop me or leave me down there, I swear I'll find my way back up here and murder you all."

Bishop, getting ready along with Khelgar to do the lowering, smirked.

"Have fun, swamp wench," he wished her.

Then her heart started to sink along with her body as the winch squeaked, delivering her to the darkness with agonizing slowness.


	53. Beneath

_Author's Note: I do apologize for the delay. I've been busy sandbagging my basement and lugging around buckets of water and fun stuff like that. The snowmelt is not being very kind to me this year. _

* * *

**Beneath**

Halfway down the well shaft, Brianna realized that Ember had long since hidden a secret.

She had lighted her chalice as soon as her head had sunk below ground level, unwilling to suffer through the near-darkness even if the shine made her a target. The ring of light had traveled downwards with her, illuminating the slick, black walls, but at last it had expanded as the shaft widened.

Below her lay a cavern that could have easily fit all of Ember inside it.

She still hadn't reached the bottom. Above her the winch was creaking rhythmically as Khelgar and Bishop turned it, and every time the foreboding, high-pitched noise preceded another drop of several hand's breadths. Looking off to the side, she saw only darkness. Below, the chalice's shine was beginning to reveal an expanse of glittering ice. She could not spot any movement but kept her eyes sharp nonetheless. As exposed as she was, dangling in mid-air with no cover, she needed to anticipate any attack in order to have a chance to live through it.

An inquiring shout caused her to flick her eyes to the small circle of daylight above.

"Go on," she called back, trying to estimate how many more turns of the winch it might take for her to reach the ground. She thought if she jumped now, she might not hurt herself, but there was no telling how thick the ice was, and how deep the water beneath. There was no good reason to risk it.

She found herself wondering whether the residents had known about this cavern at all. Ember's water supply had to be massive. The ice stretched far beneath her, bordered by a rock shelf to one side that looked as though it could carry her. She'd need to reach it somehow, if she wanted to depart her ride without running the risk of breaking through the ice. Hypothermia was not something she wanted to deal with on top of all her other problems.

Eventually, when the bucket had nearly reached the bottom, she experimentally bent her knees, trying to swing sideways. The rope creaked ominously, but granted her a bit of movement, just enough for her to be able to dismount onto the rock shelf.

Despite her care, there was a cracking noise as she let go of the rope.

When she was sure she had regained her balance, she lowered the chalice. The ice was indeed thin, and spidery cracks had begun to form where the bottom of the bucket had impacted it on her dismount.

"Crap," she muttered, before remembering that there was someone down here, and drawing one sword with her free hand. Squinting into the darkness, she saw very little, and nothing that looked like a person.

The shelf she was currently balancing on snaked around one side of the cave, vanishing behind a bend in the rock wall. Sliding her feet forward carefully and testing the stability of the rock on each step, she made her way around that same bend and found herself able to step off the shelf and onto the ground. Behind her, several pebbles she had dislodged scattered and dropped onto the ice.

Another shout from above made her turn.

"Ye'll be alright, lass?"

That was, of course, Khelgar, hollering into the well with all his might.

"Yes!" she screamed back. Then she turned back, intending to advance further into the darkness, and found herself face to face with the cave's occupant.

She reeled back so far she nearly fell into the ice. At the last moment she managed to catch herself on the wall, dropping her chalice and scratching her hand bloody as she clung on for dear life. Her right arm, sword still firmly in her grip, described a ridiculous loop in mid-air in order for her to regain her balance. Finally, she succeeded and pulled herself forward. Her hand stung badly.

"Bloody hells," she cursed.

The slim figure before her bent to pick up her chalice, holding it out for her as she shakily made her way onto solid ground once more. The object's shine illuminated a boy's thin, pale face, freckled, and with impossibly dark eyes.

Brianna squinted.

"Marcus?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Hello," he replied simply.

It took her several moments longer to come to terms with who was standing in front of her. She hadn't honestly expected to see the boy again, not after everything that had happened.

"What are you doing down here?" she asked eventually.

"Surviving," he said. When he turned, she could see the glint of Bishop's dagger, tucked in his belt.

It seemed like Marcus had been doing very literally what he'd said. He was clad in what appeared to be several layers of discarded, dirty rags, all held together by the belt around his waist. His hands had been stuffed into children's gloves several sizes too small for him, with holes cut in the fingertips to allow for more room. On his feet, he wore boots that appeared to once have belonged to a grown man. When she followed him further, she discovered that he had made his home on another rock shelf, a small niche lined with pelts and dirty blankets.

"You've been down here all this time?"

She could scarcely believe her eyes when he nodded. It seemed a miracle he was still alive, especially considering the temperatures.

"Since the attack," he elaborated, crawling into his nest of pelts and wrapping himself up. "I hid down here because I knew I had to. I hunted. There's lots to hunt in this cavern."

His hand went to his belt and he pulled out the knife, holding it out for her.

"You can have it back now."

Baffled, she took it and sat down next to him on the shelf.

"So you saw this coming? The attack?"

He nodded, then shrugged.

"I knew something was coming," he confessed then. "I knew you would be there, but not really you."

That caught her attention.

"What did you see?" she asked, trying to sound nice, leaning towards him. "Who did you see, that was me but not really me?"

He seemed to have trouble putting his vision into words, knotting his hands frantically.

_No wonder,_ she thought. _I can't imagine many people feel an urge to chat with him about his gloomy premonitions._

"It looked like you, like the shell of you," he finally explained. "When I looked, really looked, the shell faded away and I saw a large man, hulking, like an ogre, but bald. He looked mean, and he swung his sword and cleaved a man in two. Then I went and climbed down the rope and hid in the well."

Brianna had trouble containing her excitement. This was the first hint, the only clue she had gotten as to who had taken her identity. The boy had just described the real face of the Butcher of Ember.

"I need you to come with me," she told him. "Up the well. We'll get you into the warmth, and you can tell that story again to someone who will find the ogre-man, and punish him."

"But…" Marcus appeared confused for a moment, frowning and wrinkling his nose at her. "Don't you want to follow them?"

"Follow who?"

"The men. Two of them, two who followed the man who was the shell of you. When Ember burned, they were trapped inside, and they jumped down the well. Hurt themselves, both of them. Then they fled."

He pointed into the darkness.

Brianna stared as she tried to sort through his words. "Two of the attackers fled through this cavern? Didn't they see you?"

Marcus shook his head.

"They didn't have light. I just sat right here, still as a mouse, and wished they wouldn't see me, and they walked past and didn't see me at all."

She bit her lip as she thought, staring at the boy and then past him, into the darkness. This might be just the clue they needed, the lack of which Sand had just lamented, up in Ember's ruins. If they could find the men, or even just their bodies or a weapon they might have left behind…

"Do you know where this cavern leads?" she wanted to know.

Once again, Marcus shook his head.

"I know there's goblins," he offered. "I've heard them, yipping and grunting. Stayed out of their way."

There was nothing to it, they would have to go and explore the place.

She unwrapped the boy from his pelts and blankets and led him by his arm back to where the bucket was dangling over the ice.

"They're going to pull you up," she explained to him as she used her sword to fish for the rope. "Tell Sand, that's the elf, that I said to get you to Port Llast as soon as possible. Tell them I want them to lower down my pack. Tell…"

She paused, frowning as she thought. Sand would have to come along, in order to evaluate any possible evidence. Khelgar would make any goblins think twice about attacking them. Bishop would be useful as well, if there was tracking to be done. Neeshka might enjoy the exploration. Shandra and Grobnar could be the ones to escort the boy back to Port Llast.

Eventually, she gave Marcus a list of people she wanted down the well, made him repeat it to be sure he would remember it, lifted him into the bucket and shouted a command to far above. Faintly, she could hear the squeaking of the winch, and watched as Marcus, looking even more pale than usual, clinging on to the rope for dear life, traveled higher and higher.

Then she waited.

There was debate up above. She grit her teeth, wishing she could be up there herself and put an end to the talking. It was cold. They needed to get moving. She wanted to be in a nice, warm bed before it was evening and the temperature dropped even further.

Her pack was the first thing down. She fished for the bucket once more and then spent an annoyingly long time trying to untie the straps which had been tied to the bucket's handle so tightly that she was tempted to cut them instead of fiddling with them. She suspected Bishop of the deed. Eventually though, she managed to loosen them and gave the rope a hearty tug, sending it up.

Minutes later, her ears once more picked up the winch's rhythmic squeaks. This time, the bucket carried Sand, who appeared less than amused about the ride.

"You have certainly had better ideas," he commented as she assisted him in keeping his feet dry when he reached the ground.

She couldn't help but grin wryly. "You still came down here."

"Much as I dislike this excursion, I do see its necessity," he stated, while she tugged on the rope once more to send up the bucket. "Now then, what is the story with that beggar-child? Why was he in a well, of all things, and why are we sending him to Port Llast?"

"He's a seer of some sort. Qara said so." Brianna paused when Sand made a face, in order to make one of her own. "I know you don't place much stock in her expertise, but feel free to examine him yourself when we get back to the inn. She nearly freaked out seeing all of his power. He foresaw the attack on Ember. And," she paused dramatically, giving him a triumphant smile, "he saw through the leader's magical disguise."

Sand's expression froze.

"He can identify the real murderer?" The moon elf's expression changed slowly, making him look as though she had just told him some priceless arcane secret. "By Mystra, this may just make him our most valuable witness. Give me your sword."

Perplexed, she did. He grasped the hilt very briefly and ran finger along the broad edge, muttering several nonsensical words she was pretty sure made up a spell.

Moments later, the blade itself shone with soft purple light, competing with the golden glow of the chalice.

"Pretty," she opined, then realized that this meant she did not have to carry the chalice any more. "And handy." She stuffed the holy object into her pack and drew her second blade instead.

The weight of both swords in her hands was beginning to feel right to her. She'd noticed during practice the previous day that, fighting one-handed, she now kept wanting to lift a blade she was not carrying with her free hand. She supposed it was a sign of progress, though it was also annoying when she _did_ want to fight with only one blade.

When the bucket traveled down again, she was expecting Neeshka, but instead it was Bishop holding on to the rope. Above their heads, the winch's rhythmic squeaks were ominously drawn out as it presumably struggled under the weight of the ranger.

Bishop did not need assistance on the dismount. He did the same Brianna had done, swinging the bucket enough to be able to step onto the rock shelf.

"Fancy mud hole you found here." He looked around, his hand releasing the rope.

"Isn't it though." Brianna frowned at him, even though he had his back turned. "Didn't think you'd be so eager to come down here."

"The gnome was talking," he replied and ran his gloved hand along the rock. "Ore, is it?"

Surprised, she stepped next to him and brought her sword close. The violet glow traveled across the dark wall until she saw the vein that ran through the rocks, a hint of orange-golden glitter that appeared to bleed through the stone.

"Stars, I think you're right. What is this, iron?"

"Beats me," he shrugged. "I'm not an expert on rocks."

"We can be quite sure that the people of Ember did not know about this cavern, then," Sand said, stepping close as well. "Or they would have taken advantage of this."

"We could," the ranger proposed. "Might make us all a bit of gold on the side."

Brianna had to admit that it wasn't his worst idea.

"I should tell Calindra, once we get back to the Alliance Arms. We just have to make sure Luskan doesn't catch wind of it, or they'll be crawling all over this place."

Still using her sword for a light source, she searched the wall and found several more streaks of the same ore, splitting off from what was probably one large vein somewhere deep in the rocks. Since Calindra was currently doing nothing but waiting at an inn for her partner, she might not mind a project.

"What in the _hells_?" Bishop snarled, causing her to spin round.

The ranger was staring at the bucket, which was dangling above their heads, being in the process of being lowered once more. Instead of carrying one of the people she had expected it to carry, however, a jolly, gnommish face was peering over its edge.

Sand groaned.

"Grobnar," she called up to him, not quite managing to keep the exasperation from her voice. "What are you doing?"

"Why, I thought I would help," the gnome shouted joyfully, oblivious to their reactions. His voice echoed through the cave. "I once explored a cave, you see, a very deep one, and I encountered a number of odd creatures in those depths, and they looked like they were going to eat me. As it turned out though…"

She screamed his name to get him to stop.

"Thanks for the offer," she said then, wrecking her brain as to how to get him to go back up the shaft. They did _not_ need Grobnar around on this expedition. "But, listen, this is going to be very dangerous. Er…"

She turned her head and looked to Sand for help.

"There is a carnivorous, gnome-eating cave moss down here," the moon elf supplied lamely.

Brianna changed her expression to one of incredulity.

"A carnivorous moss? Oh my!" Grobnar squealed. "I've never even heard of such a thing! I would love to see it, to examine it."

He jumped with excitement. Actually jumped, his frizzy hair flying, his pack lifting from his shoulders.

Brianna stared with horrified fascination.

Then the gnome's feet landed in the bucket again, and with one final, strained noise of protest, the rope broke.

She couldn't have reacted for anything in the world as suddenly, bucket and gnome were on a fast downwards dive. They impacted the ice hard, causing the entire layer to break apart with increasingly loud cracks, and with a surprisingly minor splash, vanished beneath.

For several seconds, all three of them just stood and stared.

Finally, Brianna found her voice.

"I can't believe that just happened." she croaked.

She could spot no movement beneath the floating chunks of ice.

"_Someone_ ought to help him," Sand opined.

There was another moment of silence, during which Bishop turned his head towards the wizard.

"Yeah, well, it isn't going to be me."

Brianna was still staring at the water. At these temperatures, entering the water wasn't just unpleasant, but possibly suicidal. She didn't want Grobnar to _die_, exactly, but she had no desire to risk her own life for the damned gnome either.

She turned to Sand.

"Haven't you got some spell prepared?" she asked hopefully.

She heard him grinding his teeth.

"Oh, the old lift-gnome-out-of ice-water-spell, you mean? Sorry, I must have forgotten to study it this morning, how foolish of me."

"What _have_ you got prepared?" she asked, feeling nervous as the seconds ticked by.

Sand counted off the spells on his fingers.

"Let's see, I could cast a few more light spells, if you'd like to set the mood. I could shoot him with a magic missile and put him out of his misery – if I knew where to aim, of course. I could create a gust of wind down here, if you'd like to feel a little more uncomfortable."

"Thanks Sand," she said, resigned.

"You are most welcome, dear girl."

They kept staring, as though expecting Grobnar to shoot from the ice at any moment. Then, Brianna sighed and bent to pick up a rock.

"Cast your light spell on it. I want to know how deep the water is."

Sand obliged.

She flung the now-glowing chunk of rock into the water, watching it sink while illuminating everything in its immediate vicinity with a ghostly blue-tinged shine.

The water was not as deep as she'd feared. Deep enough for Grobnar to drown, certainly, if they didn't hurry up and think of something, but if she turned out to have some sort of brilliant idea, the gnome might have a chance.

She reached for another rock.

"Do it again," she ordered Sand.

The wizard hesitated.

"This is my last one," he warned her, and she resisted the temptation to bash his face with the rock.

"Just do it," she snapped, irritated. "Unless you have a better idea, how about shutting up and helping me, hm?"

Sand cast the spell.

"Why do you even care?" Bishop, leaning back comfortably as though nothing at all was wrong, wanted to know. "I don't."

"That's obvious," she told him as she threw the second rock. "I haven't got the patience to bother with everyone still up there whining and bitching about how I didn't save the gnome. I don't fancy having to deal with yet another death someone will probably make me responsible for during the trial."

"You're pathetic," he smirked.

In the glow radius of the second rock, she glimpsed a small, gnome-sized shadow beneath the ice. Too far out to reach him from shore.

"Yes, well, maybe I am."

She pulled a face when she realized what she was about to do.

_Oh bloodied, blasted hells, that fucking gnome is going to owe me big time._

"You could have let Zeeaire kill me," she reminded Bishop.

He didn't like that at all. His eyes narrowed, but she had more important things to do than banter with the ranger.

Like taking her clothes off.

Sand's eyes widened when she tugged at the buckles of her armor.

"You're not… going in there?" the wizard spluttered, staring as though sure she had lost her mind. He was probably right.

"Well, one of us has to." She grit her teeth, dropping the armor, tearing off her tunic, peeling her way out of her layers. "There's a couple of healing potions in my pack, and one of your endurance potions. Further back in the cave there's some pelts. They smell bad, but they'll be warm. Bishop, try to make a fire, if you can."

"She's gone off the deep end," the ranger informed the wizard.

Brianna, now only in her silken undershirt and leggings, tuned him out and focused on the spot in the water where the small, dark shape of the gnome still drifted.

"Fuck," she said succinctly, took a deep breath, and waded into the water.


	54. Into the Unknown

**Into the Unknown**

She felt thoroughly warm and comfortable.

It was the only thought in her mind for a good, long while. She floated, drifted in lulling warmth, and all was right.

It was a wonderful feeling.

Slowly, however, she remembered that there was more to the world she knew than soft, soothing warmth. There was aching cold, piercing her skin like a million needles, cramping her muscles, crippling her movement. The memory of it was fresh in her mind.

But she was warm now.

Why was she warm?

Confused, she tried to figure out her surroundings.

She was laying on her side, on top of something hard and bumpy. Hair, or fur, or something very much like it, tickled her chin. And something thoroughly warm was surrounding her.

_Apparently, Sand and Bishop managed to follow instructions for once._

With that thought, her memory returned. She nearly groaned out loud remembering her idiocy.

_I hope Grobnar made it, at least, and I didn't nearly kill myself for nothing. _

There were no sounds but the crackling of a fire.

She tried to move. It didn't work too well, as she had apparently been thoroughly wrapped up in blankets. Something was pinning her left arm to her side. She struggled to pull her right arm out from underneath her, trying to remove whatever was so tightly around her.

Something warm. Hairy.

…an arm.

As horror dawned inside her, she tried to sit up. The arm promptly tightened around her, keeping her down.

"Don't read too much into this, swamp girl," Bishop muttered close to her ear. His voice made the fine hairs on her neck stand up, and his breath was hot on her skin. "It was either you or the gnome."

She turned, and jerked back as she suddenly found her face a hair's breadth from his. Still he kept her tightly pinned, making any movement difficult. She fought feebly against his grasp. Her body felt like lead.

"Hold still," he instructed her. "You're still too cold."

"I _feel_ warm," she hissed at him.

"Good for you," he replied, making no motion to let her go. "I'm sure that makes it all better."

Eventually, she relented. If he was right, if her body was in fact still too cold, she needed his body warmth, whether she liked it or not. So she forced herself to relax, turning her head away and allowing him to pull her close to his chest, feeling the small hairs there tickling her shoulder.

Her _bare_ shoulder.

"Bishop," she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. It wouldn't do to show the ranger she was near panic.

"Yeah?" he muttered into her ear.

"Am I naked?"

"Yeah."

"Are _you_ naked?"

"Yeah."

She bit her lip, trying to keep the old fear from overwhelming her, remembering Rilien, who'd been nothing but gentle, telling herself that she should be angry, not afraid.

"You're a disturbed, disgusting pig," she informed him with as much restraint as she could muster. It likely wasn't the most clever thing to say when he had her naked and pinned down, but she was far too determined to keep him from seeing how terrified she was to care.

"And you're a few tankards short of a tavern wench, but that's not the point" he said. "I've been behaving myself. The wizard kept an eye on you, and besides, you're not exactly my type."

Marginally, she relaxed. Despite everything, she couldn't resist.

"Yeah, I remember. Your type's blond, with pointed ears and pouty lips and carrying a killer grudge."

He snorted, but didn't reply.

She stared up into the darkness, wondering how long it would be before her body temperature was stable, considering whether she should risk it and try to struggle free from his hold.

"Did Grobnar make it?" she wanted to know after a moment of silence.

"Last time I checked, he was breathing." Bishop sounded unconcerned with the gnome's fate.

"And did we hear anything from above?"

She felt his shrug. "Sand did some shouting, but I don't think he accomplished much. From what I heard, they were planning on going back to Port Llast to fetch help."

"We may not need it," it occurred to her. "Marcus said there's goblins nearby. I doubt they all came in through the well."

"A second exit? I guess that's likely, yeah." Bishop sounded thoughtful. "Still, no telling how far that exit is, and where it might lead us."

"That's what we've got you for." She managed to sound almost cheerful.

"You keep telling yourself that," he murmured, and his lips brushed her earlobe.

A jolt of excitement rushed through her. She shuddered involuntarily, cursing herself for actually welcoming the sensation for a fraction of a second. Rilien had done the same, nights ago, and with him it had been lovely. She felt a desperate desire to hurt Bishop for sullying the experience.

"You do that again," she said through clenched teeth, pushing against his arm as hard as she could, "and I swear I'll gut you." For added effect, and to underline her words, she reached back and dug her nails into the hard muscle of his thigh.

With a grunt that appeared to reflect annoyance more than pain, he released her and rolled onto his back. She struggled to throw off the blankets he had wrapped them both into, clenching her teeth to keep from shivering when she felt the cold air on her skin. When she had put enough distance between them both, she calmed and thought to look around.

They were still in the cavern, in the spot where Marcus had previously made his home. A fire was going nearby, just large enough to spent a desperate bit of warmth, and before it lay a lumpy shape she guessed to be the gnome. Jaral was curled up on a corner of the blanket. Sand was kneeling on the other side of the fire in the company of his cat, alternately mixing something in a beaker and smashing something else with a mortar and pestle. Why the wizard had apparently taken half his alchemy lab along on an excursion to Ember, she had no idea.

When she took two steps further, the moon elf looked up and arched an eyebrow.

"Might I suggest clothes?"

"You might," she said, too weary to care that he was seeing her in the nude. "Where are they?"

He pointed to a nearby pile, and she went to investigate it.

Her undershirt and leggings had been laid out to dry. They still felt damp, however, when she touched them to check. The rest of her clothes were all mixed together, just as she had discarded them. Shivering violently now, she dug out her socks and cotton underclothes and began the task of dressing.

For several long minutes, the only sounds in the cavern were the crackling of the fire, the rustle of fabric and Sand's rhythmic pounding as he smashed herbs with the pestle.

"How is Grobnar?" she asked when she couldn't stand the silence any longer, pulling taut the last buckle.

"I spelled him to sleep," Sand evaded the question.

"How _is_ he, Sand?"

She had not got the patience for games. Diving into ice water and suffering the consequences had frayed that string rather thoroughly.

"Not well," Sand finally admitted, looking like he had a toothache and putting down the pestle with rather more force than strictly necessary. "He is stable for the moment, but not improving. We need to get him somewhere warm, preferably a place that comes fully staffed with a cleric, because I, dear girl, am _not_ a healer."

He tipped the contents of the beaker into the mortar and took up the pestle again.

"Can he be moved?" she asked.

"More than likely, we will not have a choice in the matter," he pointed out as he stirred. "It will be easier once I finish this last potion and get him to swallow it."

He was probably right. It looked like they were going to have to brave subterranean depths with an unconscious gnome in tow.

Brianna could imagine a whole lot of things more pleasant than this to do on a dreary winter afternoon.

* * *

An hour or so later, they were underway, traversing the sprawling cavern.

It was a disorienting and disconcerting endeavor. The combined light of the magical chalice and Sand's spells was not strong enough to illuminate their surroundings more than a few feet away, leading to a lot of guesswork to actually find a path which did not culminate in a dead-end. There were noises overhead which Brianna couldn't identify, and the sound of flowing water, the origin of which she could not pinpoint. At any moment, she expected a Goblin ambush, keeping her swords drawn and ready whenever she did not need her hands to climb past a stalagmite that blocked the narrow pach they were on, or to pull herself onto a higher rock shelf in order to bypass a gap in the stone. On occasion the ground they walked on got dangerously slippery, slowing their progress.

Bishop led them, carrying Grobnar's bundled up form strapped to his back. The ranger had complained surprisingly little about being the one to lug around the gnome. He seemed to see the need for it, for once.

Brianna had no idea how Bishop managed to keep his sense of direction in the near-darkness, but at least in this one matter, she knew she could trust him. However much of a bastard he was otherwise, he did his job well. It was difficult to keep track of time down here, but she was willing to bet that they had been on this trek through the darkness for a couple of hours, at the very least.

Sand appeared to be having more and more trouble as they continued on. The moon elf was an academic and an alchemist, and not one for strenuous exercise. He did not complain, however, and Brianna made no comment until they had left the expansive main part of the cavern behind and were walking along a narrower passage Bishop had found, which led them what he claimed was east. At this point, Brianna turned to check on Sand, the glow of her sword illuminating his face.

He was pale. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, and he was obviously trying hard to keep his labored breathing under control.

"You need some rest," she told him in a tone that she hoped would not invite argument.

He tried anyway.

"It… is not just… the march," he forced out, his chest rising and sinking rapidly. "We must be… beneath… the Duskwood."

Mystified, she turned to Bishop.

"Any clue what he means?" she wanted to know.

The ranger shook his head and then looked up, holding up the chalice in order to be able to see above them.

Brianna tilted her head up as well and spotted the web of roots that made up the ceiling of the passageway at once.

"We're beneath the Duskwood alright," Bishop confirmed.

"The Duskwood, yes." Sand had sunk onto a convenient rock formation in order to catch his breath. "It is a well-known fact… at least among masters of the arcane, that the trees of the Duskwood act as a damper… on magical energies. My connection to the Weave here is strained… at best."

Brianna stared at him, trying to figure out what he was saying.

"You can't cast spells," she finally realized.

Sand produced a kerchief from a pocket in his robe and dabbed his forehead.

"In essence, no," he confirmed somewhat reluctantly.

"That's just great," Bishop muttered as he turned away and set down his burden. "That makes at least half of us completely useless, now."

Bemused, Brianna reflected on that statement for a moment before deciding to take it as a compliment. While Sand rested, she walked over to check on the gnome.

Grobnar looked like a child, all bundled up as he was, albeit one with particularly strange features that looked as though it had developed a hobby of running face-first against walls. The squashed nose was the gnome's own, but the blue lips were worrisome, and Grobnar's cheek was clammy when Brianna touched her hand to it. Pulling it away, she frowned at the unmoving form.

She didn't particularly like the odd little man with his damned long-winded stories and his annoying habit of tinkering with any machinery in a ten mile radius in order to figure out how it worked or try to improve it. But that didn't mean she looked forward to his death. Grobnar was naïve, child-like, but that also meant he had preserved a sort of wide-eyed innocence that most people hereabouts lost at a very young age. Brianna could barely remember ever having had it.

Eventually she turned away, glancing at Sand, who still looked as though he might be sick any moment, and from him to Bishop, who had stepped further away from them and was barely visible now in the shadows.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

Her eyes caught the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the only outward sign he'd actually heard her.

"To scout ahead," he replied sharply, without turning. "If it _pleases_ the swamp princess."

She bit her tongue to keep from replying. It probably would have been a bit much to expect the ranger's good mood to last while he was carrying Grobnar on his back and leading her and Sand through a dark cave. She was smart enough to avoid provoking him in a situation where she was dependent on him, so she let him go and crossed her fingers, hoping she was right in assuming that the ranger would actually return for them.

For lack of anything that might keep her occupied, she found a smooth bit of rock near Sand and rested her legs as well. While waiting, she flexed her cold fingers inside her gloves to try and keep them from getting stiff. There was no brutal wind down here like there had been above ground, but that only meant she was less aware of how cold she truly was.

"Better?" she asked Sand, once his breathing appeared to have calmed.

The wizard seemed slightly peeved by the question, but answered anyway.

"Yes, thank you. Now if only the ranger returned and the gnome woke up, we might actually have a chance to return to Neverwinter before your trial begins."

The words caused a wave of panic inside her. She had been trying not to think about the trial itself, and especially about the fact that there was a possibility she might be sentenced to hang if she did not manage to find conclusive evidence of the Luskan plot. There was little she could do about it, apart from all she was already doing, so she searched desperately for a change of topic.

"Why does it affect you so?" she breached the subject that might keep Sand on his toes instead of discomforting her. "The Duskwood, and the Weave, I mean."

A slight frown appeared on his forehead, but once again, he graced her with a reply.

"If you are asking what exactly it is about the Duskwood that causes mages to become disconnected from their source of power, I don't know, though I could likely find out given a day or two and the right books to study. But I doubt that this is actually what you are asking, is it?"

She stared at her hands in their thick gloves. Her fingers were still moving mechanically, bending and stretching.

"No," she admitted. "I'm just trying to understand what it feels like."

"Understanding the Weave? My dear, it would take months of study for you to be able to even approximate the connection a true mage has to the source of all arcane magic. The Weave is everywhere, always present and ready for me to draw upon its power, and so, to be disconnected from it…" Sand's fingers were making gestures in mid-air, as though underlining the words he appeared to have trouble finding.

"It feels like something is missing?" Brianna ventured an obvious guess.

"Indeed, though that is only part of it." Sand did not appear to enjoy saying the words in the least. As though to comfort himself – though Sand probably would have protested this particular description Brianna formed inside her head - the wizard reached out with one hand for his cat familiar. Jaral, squinting, accepted the caresses.

"I suppose, after studying and practicing magic for so long, any wizard may draw a certain comfort from the presence of the Weave. With this presence removed, there is a certain feeling of… loss."

Brianna thought he sounded clinical, but a single look at his body language told a different story. His fingers were frantically busy scratching Jaral's ears and cheeks as though the cat's comfort was paramount.

She had never considered studying magic, mostly because of the fact that her fingertips had tingled and her skin had itched whenever she'd been near one of the spells that West Harbor's local wizard, Tarmas, had cast. During the curmudgeonly mage's public demonstrations, wich had been far and few between, she had preferred to stay away. Amie had been the one to fulfill Tarmas' need for an apprentice, right up until the day a Githyanki mage had sent a bolt of lightning straight through the girl's chest.

She did not realize that she had pulled her glove off until the bare tips of her fingers were already touching the pouch she still carried on her belt, the collection of shards she had assembled. Five there were now, humming with a power that threatened to overwhelm her as her hand slipped inside the pouch. This was what she imagined it felt like to have the sort of magic at her fingertips that Sand talked about, all of it ready to obey her command. Her skin tingled, and after holding our for several seconds, she felt like her ribs might just crack from the strain of the power rush.

Her forefinger brushed the topmost shard, and the feeling faded.

She breathed, deeply, trying to regain control of her senses. Her fingers clenched around the shard as though it was a lifeline, its edges digging into her palm, and as so many times before she wondered what it was that caused the shards in her pouch to resonate with the one she carried in her chest. They had once been part of the same weapon, but she knew next to nothing about that weapon, and what it had been capable of.

"You do feel its power."

Sand's voice carried a note of awe, just enough to tell her that her body language had conveyed at least a hint of how the shards made her feel. She opened her mouth to protest, to lie, but reconsidered.

"Is that what I feel?" she asked instead. "The Weave?"

"I believe so, yes. Your entire body is radiating it." Sand stretched out his hand as though about to touch the pouch hanging from her belt, though he appeared to change his mind at the last possible moment and his elegant fingers curled into a fist instead. "Or something very like it."

They were both quiet for a long moment. Sand was staring at the pouch on Brianna's belt, and Brianna was staring at Sand.

"The Silver Swords," she said then, causing him to blink as though he had forgotten they were talking. "Aldanon the sage told me they turn into shimmering columns of light when wielded in combat. Why? And how?"

"I do not know," he admitted. "As you know by now, the githyanki are a bit overprotective of these weapons, so there are precious few people here on the Prime Material Plane who know much about them."

"Ammon Jerro did," she recalled the role that Shandra's ancestor played in the puzzle of the Silver Sword.

"Yes, the old scholar." Sand's hand extended towards her pouch once more as he talked. "The shards… from what I can tell, which - if you will recall - is not much, the power of the sword fractured as the shards did. I cannot answer your question without details of the sword's creation, and I suspect the githyanki Lich Queen will not be eager to share these."

"But you think Ammon Jerro might have found something out?"

His hand still in mid-air, pointing, Sand frowned. "He had an entire, whole sword at his disposal. If he was as knowledgeable as Aldanon seems to believe, yes, I do think he might have gained an insight that could help in understanding the shards."

She mulled over this for some time. Even though the githyanki were no longer pursuing her, there was no guarantee it would always stay this way, or that someone else wouldn't come after her, wanting the shards. The bald warlock was presumably still out there, collecting them, after all. Once the trial was over and done with, maybe it was a good idea to turn her efforts towards trying to find Ammon Jerro's research.

"Is it possible that it's the shard in my chest that has caused me to be so sensitive to magic?" she wondered out loud.

"Not just possible, but quite likely, in fact," Sand replied at once. "Growing up with a piece of a powerful magical artifact embedded within you, well, I might have been more surprised if it had not affected you at all."

"Elanee said that the druids were afraid it might taint me." Her hand, which was still gripping one of the shards, was beginning to hurt. She forced herself to loosen her grasp.

"That, dear girl, is entirely a matter of semantics." Sand frowned. "The druidess appears to believe that the magic of the shards is by itself evil, but she is, to no one's surprise I'm sure, incorrect."

"Oh yeah?" Brianna tried hard for a neutral tone. The look Sand gave her told her, however, that she had not entirely succeeded.

"Very little magic is inherently good or evil. The githyanki, while certainly an unpleasant race, do not imbue their weapons with any evil power."

Brianna leaned back against the rock.

"Well, that's a relief," she said tonelessly. Then she jumped, seeing a movement in the shadows, and a moment later glowered at a smirking Bishop.

"You found an exit?" she asked, letting go of the hilt of her half-drawn sword and allowing the tension to drain from her body. He shrugged, as though unconcerned.

"Lot of goblins ahead. Figure it means we're moving in the right direction."

Sand, straightening up, pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger at those words. He sighed deeply.

"First a village of decaying bodies, then close proximity with the gnome and the ranger, now goblins," he said in explanation when Brianna threw him a look. "Believe me when I say that my sense of smell has rarely been so offended this many times in the same day."


	55. Splintered

**Splintered**

They stumbled across the exit and the body at the same time.

For the former, the credit went mostly to Bishop, who had succeeded not only in smuggling them all past the goblin tribe, which had made its home in the caverns, at a distance, but also in following the creatures' tracks until they had been able to make out the dim glow of daylight somewhere far ahead between the rocks and stalactites.

As for the latter, it was Brianna whose attention was consumed as they hurried towards aforementioned daylight. One careless step, and the tip of her boot dug into something soft and unexpected, causing her to pitch forward with a yelp and stumble against Bishop. The ranger hauled her back to her feet so violently she thought he might wrench her arm from its socket in the process.

"Ow," she complained, holding her shoulder while he glared at her. "What the hell did I just stumble over?"

"I believe," Sand announced behind her, "this is what they call a 'corpse'."

"Great," she muttered, and turned around to look. "Because we haven't had nearly enough of those lately."

The body was nearly black, charred beyond recognition, and the parts that weren't burned had clearly been rotting away for some time. Brianna could see barely a hint of the skin color which the man – at least she assumed it was a man – had once had. One of the legs had been removed at the thigh, and the unfortunate individual's face had been burned clear off. She would have been willing to wager a guess that it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to identify the body, at least by any methods she had ever heard of.

"My word, that is disgusting," Sand opined calmly behind his kerchief.

"Yeah." Brianna stared. "What do you think happened to him? Did the goblins try to eat him?"

"Unlikely." That was Bishop, sounding actually bored. "Killing him for infringing on their territory, and then getting a little carried away… well, that's another story."

The smell of decay wasn't as strong as it could have been, kept fairly contained by the cold weather, but it was starting to get to Brianna anyway. She took several steps backwards.

"Could this be one of the killers of Ember?" she asked the other two.

Bishop was the first one to give a short nod.

"Body's been here for a few weeks. I'd call it a close enough match."

"A shame we could not find it sooner, we might have been able to identify him." Sand leaned closer to examine the corpse. Jaral had apparently had enough, and flung himself off the wizard's shoulder to get away from the offensive odor. "This looks promising, though."

He pointed with one long finger.

"A ring?" The ranger sounded dismissive. "What's a ring going to help? He probably stole it from another corpse, no way of proving anything."

Brianna, however, frowned as bells of recognition went off in her head. This wasn't the first time someone with a peculiar ring had meant her harm.

"Can I see that?" she asked.

She shouldn't have been surprised when Bishop gave her a look and then drew his sword, handing her a gray-tinged half-rotten severed hand just a moment later.

"You are such a romantic," she told him in an attempt to underplay the aversion she felt.

She had been right though, she realized as soon as the blood-covered metal spikes caught her eye. The ring's design was the same than that of the assassin in Solace Glade. Neeshka had taken that ring in an attempt to find out more about its origin, but the tiefling had never turned anything up. Now it appeared that the clue had been even more important than she could have guessed back then.

She said as much, and a moment later they were all crowded around the severed hand.

"The Circle of Blades," Sand breathed, and busied himself searching for something in his robes.

Brianna fixed him with a stare.

"Eh?" She found herself unwilling to vocalize any further.

"The Circle of Blades. They are murderers, assassins, native to Luskan. This ring is their symbol." Sand had found what he had been looking for, another crisp, white kerchief, and was now carefully wrapping the finger in it.

Brianna squinted at the wizard.

"How in the hells do you even know this stuff?"

"My dear, it is always good to make a habit of learning as much as possible about your enemy - and Luskan has been Neverwinter's enemy for longer than I care to count right now. The existence of the Circle of Blades is not exactly a secret."

She turned her head and gave the rotten corpse another long look. If Sand was right, then this Circle of Blades might be the key to figuring out who exactly it was that wanted her dead.

"What do you know?" she asked.

Sand stowed the kerchief-wrapped bundle in his pack with what looked like deliberate slowness.

"While the Circle itself makes no secret of its existence, its members, of course, are not paraded around. The only way you are likely to get your hands on one is as we are now, stumbling across a corpse. They are for hire as killers and have a reputation of ruthlessness, brutality and efficiency."

Brianna frowned. "What is the point of wearing a ring, then, if they are trying to remain anonymous? Wouldn't that be announcing their membership?"

"I believe they wear them only during missions." Sand finished re-tying his pack and promptly took several long steps away from the corpse. Bishop, in contrast, was leaning passively against the cave wall, nearly squashing Grobnar in the process, and appeared perfectly comfortable right next to the decaying body.

"What else?" Brianna wanted to know. "When assassins came after me in Solace Glade, only one of them was wearing a ring."

"It is likely only the one was a full member of the circle, then, but that is only speculation." Sand frowned at her. "Do you still have the ring? We may have stumbled across one of them by coincidence, but presenting two during the trial may lend credence to the fact of the Circle coming after you."

She nodded. "Neeshka's got it. You mean to say that most of the men in the glade were… what? Apprentice murderers? Assassins in training?" She threw up her hands. "Great. I'm considered a _practice target_."

"I don't know." Sand's voice had gained that edge she knew well enough by now. "Once we are back in Neverwinter, I intend to find out, but for now I suggest we move on and leave this disagreeable scene behind us."

Brianna was not about to argue the point. She shrugged, turned and picked up the pace again without waiting for the ranger to take point. After all, moving straight towards the small glimmer of daylight in the distance didn't take any tracking skill at all.

* * *

_Duskwood_ was an apt name for the place they found themselves in upon leaving the cavern. Even in the deep of winter, the forest grew so tall and thick here that little daylight found its way past the crowns of the trees, leaving them to pick their path in an eerie twilight. Brianna soon found herself focused solely on keeping up with Bishop, fighting through the undergrowth, trying not to stumble over roots and stones hidden beneath the snow crust.

Her eyes were studying Grobnar's limp form more often than not. With increasing worry, she watched the gnome being jostled about on the ranger's back. He did look to be in bad shape. His normally peach-colored skin was grey as ash. He had not woken up at all since his fall, and if she had not spotted the too-slow raising and sinking of the little chest, she might have thought him dead already. In fact, she guessed that if not for Sand's potions, they would likely be busy attempting to dig a small grave in the frozen ground just now. Even with the wizard's administrations, Grobnar looked to be getting worse.

With a sigh of resignation, she stepped across a tangle of roots, glittering with frost, and caught up to Bishop. The ranger spared her a single, irritated glance. She knew it meant he was listening.

"He's not looking too good," she stated, trying for a determined tone. "We need to rest, get another potion in him, else he won't last much longer."

Bishop vaulted across a snow-covered fallen tree, apparently unconcerned with the fact that the gnome on his back was being shaken about like a child's rag doll. She did the same and kept his pace, watching from the corner of her eye as a disheveled-looking Sand struggled to follow.

"Not in the Duskwood," was the entire length of Bishop's reply.

She set her jaw. Confronting the ranger about anything at all was still a task as pleasant as pulling teeth, even now that she knew him a bit better. It might have made her life a lot easier if he could have chosen not to be contrary, just this once.

"Well, how long will it take us to get _out_ of the Duskwood, then?"

He tilted his head. "Don't know for sure. A couple of hours, maybe."

"He'll be dead by then," she stated what was becoming increasingly obvious. In vain, she searched his face for a reaction.

"Not my problem."

He was too bloody frustrating. If she'd been physically capable of it, she would have grasped the ranger by the shoulders and given him several good shakes. He was far taller than her, however, and would have been able to fend her off easily, so she settled for leaping in front of him and slamming her entire weight against his chest when he walked straight into her.

The impact knocked the breath out of her. She'd forgotten about not yet having regained all of her strength, and tried hard to keep her balance, which wasn't made any easier by the snarling ranger trying to push her out of the way. Despite her muscles aching in protest, she managed to grasp two fistfuls of his cloak and refused to let go.

"Find a spot to make a damn camp."

Her tone was as cold as she could make it, the same that had served her well on several occasions lately. She tilted up her head and looked him fully in the eyes. When his fingers closed around her wrists hard, she did not budge.

"Annoying little gnat, aren't you?" His voice was low and nasty. "Look at you, little girl trying to sound all important. Anyone ever told you that you aren't any good at giving orders?"

The pressure on her wrists increased. His gloved thumbs were digging hard beneath the edge of her leather bracers, causing her to swallow a gasp of pain when he found vulnerable flesh beneath a layer of silk.

"Fuck you," she hissed through clenched teeth.

He seemed to find something amusing in that statement, and his lips formed a slow, sardonic smile. When she attempted to pull away in frustration, he hauled her even closer instead and she found herself slammed against his chest for the second time in as many minutes.

"If you insist."

Suddenly, his tone was all different. He'd slipped into that low drawl which she might have considered seductive if the speaker in question hadn't been Bishop. His words, however, made the fine hairs on her neck stand up as he murmured into her ear.

"I might agree to that little trade. I find us a good spot to camp, you pay me a visit in my bedroll and keep me nice and warm."

Her breath caught in her throat. She spent one lighting-quick moment considering the possible replies to this statement, one more violent than the other. A large part of her itched to draw her sword and ram it straight between the ranger's legs.

She felt him pull her even closer and was suddenly infinitely glad they were both wearing so very many layers of clothing.

"Nothing you haven't done for a man before, swamp vixen," he muttered.

Her instincts told her to draw her knee up into his crotch and watch him writhe in pain on the snowy ground. She might have tried, but she'd trained with him often enough by now to know the speed of his reflexes. He was likely expecting her to try.

_Don't give him the satisfaction. You've been around him enough to know it's what he wants. _

The realization helped her tear her focus away from her pounding heart and the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. She was not about to let him win that easily.

She forced a smile onto her lips that was closely modeled after his own, and leaned into him. Two could play this game. She would damn well prove to him that she wasn't as much of a pushover as he seemed to be expecting.

"That's very tempting, Bishop," she murmured right back. "But I've been with a man who knew how to treat me, and after all I've seen of you, I sincerely doubt you'd measure up. So how about you find us a camping spot and I don't touch you with a ten foot pole. Deal?"

She leaned back. He still would not let her step away, but she registered the flash of surprise in his eyes, before he regained control of himself. He hadn't expected her to react this way. It was a satisfying realization.

"Doesn't mean we can't put it to the test, now does it?" He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, but this time she saw straight through his attempt to unsettle her. "After all, whoever put that spawn in your belly…"

_Wyl, and his hands all over me, all the bruises, all the pain…_

She hissed with disgust as the fury boiled over within her, urging her to hurt him. Her body twisted in his grasp as though of its own accord. She threw her entire weight to one side, onto his arm, as she desperately wrestled to break his grip. One arm came loose and she flung it upwards, lunging for his face with all the strength she could muster.

_Count on Bishop to mention the one thing…_

His ugly laugh rang in her ear. Despite her best effort she was utterly outmatched, and while she still blindly struggled against him, she felt him lift her, and her feet dragging through the snow. For good measure, she kicked for his shins before remembering that he was armored there.

He threw her effortlessly against a tree. Her entire body jerked painfully as she collided with the trunk, her pack only barely cushioning the impact, and the back of her head impacted wood with a hollow crack that reverberated through her body.

The darkness that followed was littered with tiny specks of light. Fascinated, she watched them winking on and off for several long moments.

Her vision returned along with a painfully throbbing head and a sound she couldn't quite identify. Just when she tried to remember what had happened, she registered a hand that wasn't hers grasping the front of her armor and jerking her forward. Once again she flailed, and stumbled against the ranger.

"Just to make it clear," he growled somewhere near her ear, "there's no reason for you to worry, swamp girl. You've got nothing that interests me."

She braced herself against his chest. Blinking furiously, she forced her vision to recover completely. When it did, and she was able to focus on the leather-clad arm holding her in place, she felt steady enough to speak.

"Same here," she said.

That sound again. She frowned when she realized that the offender was Sand, apparently clearing his throat for the second time now. It would take more than a temporarily powerless wizard trying to give a speech to get the ranger to let her go.

Bishop shook her again. She could have told him that it was a bad idea considering the way her head was throbbing, but as the world spun lazily once 'round and her stomach clenched, she found herself half-hoping that she might lose this particular battle with her own body. Throwing up on him seemed like the perfect revenge.

"Now you listen to me."

She raised her eyes to look at his face. There was a group of pink welts crossing his left cheek, where her nails had scratched him. She was disappointed to notice she hadn't even drawn blood.

Bishop, she thought, might have realized she was not in any shape to be paying attention to any speech he might give. He gave it anyway.

"Nobody tells me what to do. And I mean _nobody_, least of all some filthy swamp farmer who thinks she's something special just because she managed to crawl out of the muck she was born into. You do it again, and you'll find yourself wishing I'd let that rotten gith split your skull."

Sand was clearing his throat for the third time.

"You got something to say, elf, you can take it and shove it up your ass."

"Charming as that is, I thought you might want to know you are frightening the gnomes," Sand replied evenly.

Brianna was so rattled it took her a moment to spot the flaw in the wizard's words.

"Gnomes?" she asked blankly. "You mean…"

Bishop abruptly turned his head, and then she finally felt the pull on her cloak lighten and cease as his fingers unclenched.

Carefully, she turned her head in the same direction.

Two girls were standing a few feet from them. They were both of small statue, up to their knees in the snow, their heads reaching barely above Brianna's waist. Clearly, they were gnommish, their noses round and knobbly, their skin a touch darker than that of most humans and their cheeks reddened from the cold. Their hair was braided in neat pigtails, one coppery brown, the other near black. Their wide-eyed faces wore similar, frozen expressions of blank astonishment.

"Son of a bitch," Bishop swore. "That's the creepiest fucking thing I've seen all day."

Brianna felt inclined to agree.


	56. Sisters

**Sisters**

It had been the most exhausting day she'd had in a while, Brianna reflected later. Both physically and emotionally she had been taxed, first facing the staging ground of the slaughter that had been committed in her name, then diving into ice water, and finally walking for hours on end through an underground cavern and a snow covered forest.

And then, if all that hadn't been enough, she'd gotten into a fight with Bishop, which, in retrospect, had been a rather stupid thing to do.

The look she threw the ranger across the roaring campfire was a rueful one. Bishop was difficult to get along with at the best of times, but still she should have known better. She wasn't any good at giving orders, and he wasn't any good at taking them. Add the fact that carrying around an unconscious Grobnar was bound to make him cranky, and getting her head bashed against a tree seemed an inevitable consequence.

The frustrating thing was, she _still_ didn't know how else she could have handled it all.

_Except maybe next time, stop and think for a moment before physically confronting someone three times as strong as you are._

She blinked heavily. Her eyes were getting dry. She'd been staring into the fire for far too long, and it wouldn't do to keep dwelling on the issues of the day.

Looking up, she watched the dance of the falling snowflakes against the dark sky, their descent rudely interrupted by the heated air rising from the campfire.

"Could someone assist me for a moment?" a polite voice reached her ears. Thankful for the timely diversion, Brianna got to her feet.

It was the younger of the gnommish sisters, Jilla, who had asked to be lent a hand. The two girls had been fussing over Grobnar since the moment they had all arrived at the campsite, once Bishop had carelessly dropped his burden into the snow near the mouth of the cave and gone to find more firewood.

Now, the little bard was snugly tucked into a veritable nest of blankets and furs. Yet another potion Sand had thrown together was doing its work in keeping him stable. He had even stirred a time or two, though he hadn't woken.

Brianna grasped the gigantic pile of fur and fabric with both arms, and together with Jilla she rotated the entire construction a half turn and placed it back onto the ground. It wouldn't do for their patient to be singed on one side and ice old on another. While Jilla went to work on tucking in stray corners of the many blankets, Brianna straightened up and glanced towards the fire.

Sand was sitting cross-legged and perfectly still, as he had been for over an hour. Exhaustion was still visible on his features, though less so than it had been when they had arrived at the campsite. Brianna thought she recognized the onset of reverie, the trance that passed for sleep among members of the elven race. The process itself was still something of a mystery to her. Despite living with an elven foster father for near all of her life, it wasn't like Daeghun and her had actually talked about such things. Or much at all.

In the hollow of the elven wizard's crossed legs, Jaral had curled up and wore an expression of concentration on his feline features. Brianna found herself wondering if the cat familiar actually joined his master in reverie, or if the serious facial expression was simply a way of showing loyalty, and the precursor to another nap.

Near Sand, the older gnome sister with the near-black hair, Mirri, was taking a break from lugging around firewood, eating dried berries out of the hollow of her hand. Mirri, it appeared, was the quieter of the two, more reluctant to introduce herself, and even more reluctant to second the invitation to share the sisters' campfire after Jilla had already been waving for them to follow her.

Brianna felt far more drawn to Mirri's calm reluctance than Jilla's warm chattiness. Not that she'd met all that many gnomes throughout her life – in fact, the number had tripled just a few hours ago – but Mirri was definitely the most tolerable of the lot. Maybe it was because Brianna could very well imagine herself reacting just as Mirri had to the presence of strangers. In any case, she found herself wishing there was a way to trade in Grobnar's lunacy for the calmer gnommish experience of the two sisters.

She promptly reconsidered the thought when Jilla, a serene smile on her face, began to sing.

_Itsy bitsy gnome_

_Hadn't got a home_

_Fell into a well_

_And thought the well was swell_

_Shared it with some fleas,_

_Said "Hello, I'd like some cheese!_

_And have you got some firewood?"_

_Then the swell well drowned him good._

The lyrics had Brianna listening with morbid fascination, and Jilla's voice made her recall with fondness Grobnar's ability to carry a tune.

"Did you like it?" Jilla wanted to know after she'd finished. She leaned forward and tenderly ruffled Grobnar's hair. "I made it up. Your companion's fate is quite inspiring."

"Um," Brianna said. She found herself at a loss for words.

"Speechless, are you?" Jilla beamed. "Excellent! I haven't been able to test my songs on much of an audience yet, though I do move Mirri to tears, sometimes. It's difficult finding listeners in a place like this, you see."

Brianna's throat made an unrefined, undefinable noise when she tried to answer. She cleared it and tried again.

"Grobnar's a bard," she avoided answering the gnome girl's question.

"He is?" Jilla's cheeks flushed with pleasure. She tilted her head and gazed at her patient. "He's very handsome. Surely he has a lot of admirers. Has he got a wife and children yet, do you know?"

Once again, Brianna found herself at a loss for words. The mere idea of describing Grobnar as handsome collided with the thought of the gnome procreating, and she closed her eyes for a moment in order to wish for some lye soap to thoroughly scrub her brain.

"Ah," she said, finally giving up on the attempt. "I don't think he's married, no. I'm not exactly sure though." As much as Grobnar generally talked, he had never made any mntion of his family before. She wasn't even sure where the little bard was from. Granted, there was a good chance he'd told her about it while she had tried her hardest not to listen.

"Do you think he might want to stay?" Mirri asked suddenly from across the fire. "With us? Here? It gets so lonely, just the two of us, and he seems terribly nice."

"He's…" Brianna stopped mid-sentence to keep herself from pointing out that Grobnar hadn't regained consciousness once since his near-drowning. Where Mirri had gotten the idea that this meant the gnome was nice, she hadn't a clue.

"I would ask him as soon as he wakes up," she deferred. "Though you still haven't really explained what it is you two do here in the middle of the Duskwood in winter."

"Oh. Well…" Jilla glanced sheepishly towards her sister. "We collect insects, actually. All sorts of them."

Brianna stared.

"It's _winter_," she finally managed to point out. Her tolerance for gnommish insanity was very nearly used up or the day.

"Well yes, now it is." Mirri looked almost wounded, chin stubbornly raised. "It wasn't when we came here, all the way from Lantan. There was such an abundance of insects here, and so we stayed. Wanted to make this place a permanent home, at least until we managed to label and categorize every bug and grub. It's not so bad, really. We have our collection all sorted in our little cave, and there's food to be found even with the snow. We're just waiting for spring, now."

"Why are you here though, and not staying at an inn somewhere?" Brianna's eyes traveled around the tiny makeshift camp. "It would be warmer, certainly."

"We're not much for tall folk, generally." Jilla shrugged in an apologetic manner. "Truth be told, we likely would have avoided you too if we hadn't spotted dear Grobnar here."

Mirri nodded emphatically, pigtails flying.

"I see."

Brianna smiled politely. The two girls appeared to have said all they were willing to say on the topic, so she swallowed whatever questions she had left about the lunatic decision to spend winter camped out in a rather creepy forest, and tried to think of other things. Her gaze wandered from Mirri's rosy face and once more settled on the ranger.

Bishop, sitting with his elbows propped on his knees, had his eyes closed, but Brianna knew better than to assume he wasn't perfectly aware of what went on around him. He had placed his bow within arm's reach, as well. Part of her couldn't help but be impressed by his constant alertness.

She just wished he wasn't so bloody difficult.

Everyone else in the group she had gotten used to dealing with. Qara took to a mixture of threats and being made to feel useful, and by now the sorceress had shown to have a modicum of respect for Brianna, if Brianna pushed the issue. Grobnar could be derailed with any sort of intricate question that got the gnome to wander off and ponder for hours, keeping him out of everyone else's way. Elanee was best left to her own devices.

Casavir… well, the paladin she had unfinished business with, as she had not gotten a chance to confront him about his refusal to help her with the trial. Once they were back within Neverwinter walls, she planned to remedy this, and to find out what it was that had unsettled the paladin about her simple request.

Every single one of her companions, even those more difficult to deal with, had let her find some _right_ way to approach them. Not so the ranger. It was possible, she philosophized, that there was no right way to deal with Bishop.

Eventually, she abandoned her aimless thoughts and returned to her nest of pack and furs, drawing her cloak about her for warmth. As night had fallen, a crystalline fog had formed between the trees, obscuring the ground and glittering eerily in the firelight. Part of her wanted to go to sleep, but that would mean communicating with Bishop about who would keep watch first. The two gnome girls seemed nice enough, but Brianna knew better than to trust them completely just yet. Falling asleep in another's camp without bothering to keep someone of her own group on watch was a perfect way to get her throat slit.

Her stomach clenched. She pulled off one heavy glove and dug deep in her pack for her pouch of nuts and dried fruit, then hissed when her fingers encountered something distinctly sharp. Withdrawing it, she stuck it in her mouth to suck on it and tasted blood.

Both of their hosts had turned at her sound of annoyance.

"Are you alright?" Jilla asked, sounding concerned. Mirri had jumped to her feet, looking just as alarmed.

Brianna nodded.

"Cut myself," she mumbled around the finger in her mouth.

_Bishop's damn dagger._ She had shoved it into her pack before sending Marcus up the well, and promptly forgotten all about it following Grobnar's dramatic fall. The thing was very nearly sharper than her own sword.

It wasn't a deep cut, she knew that without even looking. Jilla, however, appeared to think Brianna had just chopped her own finger clan off.

"Drink that," the gnome girl instructed her, voice near hysterical, shoving the healing potion that had been designated for Grobnar's use roughly in Brianna's direction. "_Drink it now_."

"Oh by Segojan, are you _bleeding_?" Mirri had her hands clutched to her head, almost comically frozen. Her eyes were wide. "Jilla, I think…"

"Just a cut, is all." Brianna tried to refuse the potion.

"_Drink it_!" Jilla shoved the vial towards her again. "Else… else you might get dirt in it. It would get infected. And fall off! And then you'd be disfigured, and no handsome gnome… I mean man… would want to marry you, and…"

She appeared to be babbling now, looking completely unsettled.

Bemused, Brianna uncorked the vial, removed the offending digit from her mouth and took a long sip of potion.

Jilla turned on her heels and managed a surprisingly agile leap across Grobnar, running off into the forest without so much as another sound.

Mystified, Brianna turned to Mirri, who was still pale, but appeared marginally more composed than her sister had been.

"She hates… blood," the older gnome girl stammered in explanation. Her hands were pressed tightly against her mouth and nose. "I do too. The smell…" She shook her head, eyes narrowed apologetically.

"Oh." Brianna felt a bit foolish, though still confused.

_Gnomes are weird_, her inner voice reminded her.

Mirri promptly nodded, as though she'd heard the thought, and took a few steps back.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to go…"

She made a throwing up motion, and fled as well.

Brilliant," Brianna muttered.

With far more care than before, she reached into her pack and extracted the dagger by its handle. The potion was doing its work. She felt a momentary sensation of tightness as the skin on the tip of her finger finished knitting itself together. It was pretty much a waste of valuable potion to drink it to heal a small cut, but she supposed it was a bit rude as well to cause their hosts for the evening to be throwing up in the undergrowth.

Bishop still had his eyes closed as she approached. She would have been surprised if he wasn't perfectly aware of what had just happened though, and of the fact that she was standing in front of him.

"It's time to make a certain trade," she told him, and he finally acknowledged her by giving her a scathing look.

In the shine of the fire, his eyes seemed even more disturbingly wolf-like. She returned the look he gave her evenly, raising her eyebrows when he made no move to reach for the amulet she knew he was wearing.

"The little rat had it, hm?"

His eyes had wandered to the knife in her hand, and he was quite obviously talking about Marcus.

"He did," she said. "Helped him survive down in the well, though I'm sure you don't much care about that."

"I don't," he agreed, and stretched out his hand.

She nearly sneered at him.

"I'm not quite that stupid," she said, putting a sweet smile on her face instead and blinking serenely down at him. "My amulet first."

Without ever changing his expression, he reached up and untucked the golden chain.

"I should just keep this anyway," he said then. "You've been late in paying me."

She moved the knife behind her back, just to make sure he couldn't easily lunge for it.

"No, you shouldn't," she said. "And I _told_ you before we left that I wasn't going to lug around all that many valuables in Port Llast. Your payment's waiting at the Flagon, and that's what you're getting. That's _all_ you're getting."

"Is it?"

His voice was sharp, though he finally pulled the chain across his head. She ignored the implications of his last question – barely even that, it had been more of a statement, the way he had said it. She held out the dagger, grip firmly in hand, not even considering letting go until she held her amulet firmly in her fingers.

When the links of chain touched her glove, the grip of the other hand loosened, and she closed her fingers and snatched back her amulet just as Bishop's fingers closed around the hilt of the knife, nearly crushing hers in the process.

He scowled as he inspected the blade.

"About time," he snarled.

Brianna quite agreed. She pulled apart the length of delicate chain, holding up Neeshka's gift against the fire for a moment to inspect it for damage. The golden oak leaf charm had sustained a couple of scratches, but overall, Bishop appeared to have taken decent care of it. Satisfied, she pulled it over her head and tucked it beneath her undershirt. Then, shuddering briefly, she realized that it was still warm against her skin.

"What the hells did you do to my knife?" Bishop wanted to know at that moment.

She frowned at him. "What?" she asked stupidly.

"My knife. It's different."

He was weighing the weapon in one hand, then tested its sharpness and promptly cursed when the steel sliced through the material of his glove.

"Sharper. And… just different. What the hells did you _do_?"

"I don't see what's so bad about it being sharp." Brianna felt absurdly defensive. "Maybe Marcus sharpened it. I don't know. And what do you mean, different? It's the same damn knife."

"It's just different." Suddenly, it was the ranger who sounded defensive, nearly petulant. "It feels different, alright? It doesn't feel like _my_ knife any more."

As though to prove to herself that Bishop was going mental, she stretched out her ungloved right hand and, before he could protest or pull away, touched the blade with the tips of her fingers.

A shock of magic surged through her. She jumped, gasping as she pulled away and shook out her hand to combat the sudden numbness while wasting her breath on cursing colorfully.

Then she realized that the sensation of a magical spark jumping over had done far more than just numb her skin. Touching the enchantment, she had felt it as though it was a thing of physical substance, and it had sliced right through her mind.

"Well," she started, still fighting for breath, once the sensation had worn off, "the sharpness is magical. Won't wear off. Where it comes from I can't tell you."

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"I just do, alright?" She glared. "I feel it. I don't know what Marcus did to it, but that's how it is, and I don't see why it matters so much that someone enchanted your knife to stay sharp. You're welcome, actually."

"That wasn't part of the deal," he snapped.

Something rustled in the undergrowth, the sound nearly swallowed up by the thick bank of fog.

Acting purely on reflex by now, Brianna had both her swords drawn in the blink of an eye. Bishop had gone for his bow, an arrow nocked and the string drawn back and held as though it took him no effort at all.

They waited. Wind rushed through the crowns of the trees far above their heads, howling eerily.

It occurred to Brianna that the Duskwood was easily the most unsettling place she had visited lately.

Spotting movement in the glittering mass of fog, she squinted.

"I'm ever so sorry," a shy voice said from within the foggy darkness, and a small shape emerged and turned into Jilla.

The gnome girl's pigtails were messy now, as though strands of her brown hair had repeatedly gotten caught by branches during her run into the forest. Moisture clung to the tips. She looked far calmer than she had been just minutes ago, no longer pale and nauseous-looking, but her face once more a healthy pink.

Brianna lowered her swords.

Bishop kept his arrow pointing at the girl for several moments longer, almost as though he still was not convinced the gnome did not actually constitute a danger.

"Is your sister alright?" Brianna wanted to know.

"Fine, yes." Jilla nodded emphatically. "We're fine, both of us. Just fine."

She reached up and wiped her face with her sleeve. Some droplet near her mouth smeared and left a dark streak across her cheek.

Brianna frowned.

_That's… what _is_ that?_

The ranger had finally lowered his bow, but suddenly she wished he hadn't. She felt his tenseness along with her own, knew he had also seen whatever Jilla had tried to wipe from her face.

Something was wrong.

And where the hells was Mirri?

Jilla busied herself with rearranging Grobnar's blankets once again. Brianna was still staring, trying to will her brain into puzzling out whatever was going on here, when she felt the ranger's arm looping around her shoulders from behind.

She might have fought him if she hadn't been surprised and preoccupied. He pulled her against him, her back resting against his chest, and his lips touched the skin of her neck just below her ear.

"Blood," he breathed, the word leaving his mouth so quietly that she was barely able to make it out, despite the fact that he was so close to her. "I can smell it."

Her body went rigid.

Her eyes moved slowly upwards until Jilla was once more in her field of vision. The younger of the two sisters appeared oblivious to their alarm, still sitting by Grobnar and tenderly stroking his hair.

Two ostensibly helpless girls, alone in a forest known to be dangerous. An obvious lie about the smell of blood.

And _where_ was Mirri?

A weak cough distracted her efforts to figure it all out. First she thought the source of it was Jilla, but then she spotted the slow movement of a head full of frizzy blond hair.

"If it isn't… too much trouble…" Grobnar's voice was as frail as he looked, and he strained to move even with Jilla carefully assistig him. The gnome put a hand to his forehead as though dazed.

"Might I have some Elderberry tea, please? I have a terrible craving."

Then he turned his head and spotted Jilla.

"Oh," he said weakly. "You must be one of the Wendersnaven."

With that, he sank back onto his makeshift bed. Jilla frantically tucked in his blankets once more.

"Loon," Bishop muttered, startling Brianna, who had been so wrapped up in Grobnar's display of consciousness that she had all but forgotten that the ranger was still holding her uncomfortably close. "If you ask me, we should just pack up and get back to Port Llast. Leave the gnome here. He probably wouldn't even mind."

"I didn't ask you," Brianna pointed out under her breath.

"There's your problem," he replied. The scruff of his unshaven face was scratching her earlobe as he talked.

"I doubt he'd be very keen on spending the winter in the Duskwood," she said then.

He sighed, his breath an oddly warm contrast to the cold air on her skin.

"Who _cares_?"

She couldn't see his face, but she was reasonably sure he had just rolled his eyes.

_Why is it_, a voice inside her head inquired at that moment, _that you're happily sitting around bantering with the ranger when there are some very strange things afoot?_

She tried to think. It had been a long day, and her mind wasn't at all up to its usual standards, but she managed nonetheless – if a bit more sluggishly than was generally the case. Sand might have figured this entire thing out already, but he remained silently in reverie, and she had no idea whether it was a good idea to wake him in order to help her think. When it came to combat, the wizard would be next to useless here in the Duskwood.

_Whatever is going on, there must be hints of it, and I need to find them. But I can't figure out anything with Jilla right there, watching my every move._

She awkwardly struggled free from Bishop's hold and approached the gnomes. Grobnar was babbling under his breath, only half-conscious and tossing his head from side to side frantically. Jilla tried in vain to keep him still.

"Let me help," Brianna offered, gripping the little bard's shoulders. Jilla sat back, obviously winded from her efforts. Brianna did not particularly fancy taking over caring for Grobnar, but she was willing to make the effort of pretense if it got Jilla out of the camp.

"I am worried about your sister," she told the gnome girl. "I've heard the forest can be quite dangerous at night, and she has been gone for some time."

"She can take care of herself," Jilla said, sounding more defensive than Brianna had expected. "We were fine before you all came along, weren't we?"

"Perhaps so, but it can't hurt to check on her, can it?" Brianna shrugged, her eyes on Grobnar as though she was preoccupied with holding him still, as she tried to soften her approach. "I would, if it was my sister, of course, so I just wanted to tell you that I understand if you'd like me to take over watching Grobnar for a little while."

Jilla looked uncertain. She got to her feet, looking a bit wobbly from kneeling uncomfortably for so long, and wrapped her arms about her as she stared alternately at Brianna, and off into the forest.

"I suppose," she said, sounding unconvinced. "I shouldn't… but…"

_She doesn't trust us enough to leave to look for Jilla._

Just as Brianna realized this, she mentally filed away the fact and took it to confirm that searching the place for clues was the right course of action.

"Just go," she tried to convince the gnome girl, putting on her most harmless, encouraging smile. "He'll be fine. He would probably be upset if something happened to Mirri on account of you not wanting to leave him."

That, oddly, seemed to do the trick. Jilla spent another long moment looking uncertain, but then she nodded, turned, and hastily marched off into the forest once more.

As soon as she had vanished between the trees, Brianna turned into the opposite direction and marched straight into Bishop.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"To search that bloody cave," she replied, keeping her voice low despite being reasonably sure that Mirri and Jilla were not in any position to hear her. "There's got to be _something_ in there explaining this."

"And you want me to stay and babysit the half-pint, eh?"

"Well, if you'd like to make yourself useful, oh great tracker, you could follow the other two half-pints and figure out what they're up to," she suggested evenly.

The firelight made it difficult to read the expression on his face when he turned away, but she heard his sharp intake of breath.

"What, run blindly into the Duskwood at night? I'm not that suicidal."

She shrugged, but didn't think the matter was worth arguing. They had very little time to investigate, and if Bishop wanted to be obstinate, he could do it while she got things done.

So she left him and the fire behind and entered the ominous cave in front of which the gnome sisters had made their camp.

With some surprise she realized as the light of her chalice glanced off the dark stone walls and ceiling that this little cave was quite similar to the massive cavern they had traversed earlier in the day. It was far more cramped, certainly, and had a distinct burrow-like feel to it, but the type of rock was just the same, and she thought she caught a glimpse or two of tiny strands of glittering ore woven through the stone.

It was possible, she thought, that this specific type of rock, rich with ore, could be traced throughout this entire region. After all, the miner Callindra had made mention of her partner, Bradbury, going off to the Duskwood in search of an ore deposit.

_Perhaps I'm even quite close to finding what he was looking for._

A couple of steps later, she noticed the smell. It wasn't strong, but she had encountered blood and decay one too may times lately not to recognize it now.

Something – or someone – had died here, violently.

She grit her teeth and followed the curving tunnel to the left. The shine of her chalice illuminated a large stack of wooden frames, all of them with a glass cover, and all of them, she saw when she stepped closer and examined them, housing different types of dead and preserves insects. There were bugs shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow, moths with their delicate wings spread, bees and crickets and plenty of tin animals she couldn't even identify with certainty. Every specimen had a small slip of parchment pinned near it, neatly identifying it. Whatever Jilla and Mirri's secret was, they had not lied about being bug collectors.

Then she took another step, and nearly brought her maimed, half-rotten corpse kicking count up to two for the day.

"Oh hells," she muttered under her breath as she bent down to examine her find. The smell was so strong now that it was making her dizzy, but nonetheless she reached bravely for the one shoulder that was still attached to the body in front of her, and turned it over.

The red-headed man had been savagely killed. The body was stiff, whether from the cold or from being dead for so long she wasn't sure, but she guessed it was probably a mixture of both. The man's belly had been ripped into, and half his guts had been shredded or removed, along with the entire lower left side of his body. The pale flesh still showed bite and claw marks, but what animal those were from, she couldn't tell.

"I'm guessing you're Bradbury," she told the corpse in an attempt to keep her nerves in check. Her stomach appeared to have liquefied, and the dull throbbing of her temple suggested that she might be reaching her limit of gruesome things she could handle in a day. "Mind telling me what killed you?"

When the dead man refused to answer, she rose and turned to look for other clues as to what had happened here.

"Brianna!" Bishop called at that moment from outside the cave.

"What?" she shouted back, because rattled as she was, it took her a fraction of a second longer than it should have to realize that something _else_ was wrong.

She'd never once heard her name from Bishop's lips before. The ranger called her "swamp girl", or some variation thereof, just like he never called anyone else by name, either.

She managed to take four hurried steps towards the entrance before she heard his voice again.

"They're werewolves. Both of them."

The simple, horrible statement which tied the pieces of the puzzle together so neatly made her stop in her tracks again. Two girls, alone in the forest…

"How do you know?" she shouted then, hurrying forward once more, towards the flicker of the firelight. "How can you be sure?"

The ranger sounded impatient, though oddly pained, when he replied.

"Want to take a really wild guess?"


	57. Skin Deep

**Skin Deep**

Stepping outside, Brianna was somewhat glad to see that Bishop had not yet been mauled. For one, it would have left her to face two small werewolves by herself.

The gnome sisters she had gotten to know over the past several hours were gone. In their place, two waist-high, grey-pelted creatures standing on their hind legs snarled at her ferociously, all bared teeth and yellow eyes. One of them, Brianna had no idea whether it was Jilla or Mirri, was fighting to free her arm - or foreleg - from the arrow that was piercing her muscle and pinning her to a tree.

"This one's silver tipped," she heard Bishop warning the sister who was still mobile, indicating the fresh arrow on his bow with a slight tilt of his head. "You move, and wolfie here gets it right through the brain."

The werewolf by the tree, probably either still in pain or objecting to the nickname she had just been bestowed, snarled again.

For a moment, Brianna was relieved to know that Bishop had a weapon that would, if folklore was to be believed, actually be effective against the creatures they were facing.

Then she realized the ranger was bluffing.

If he had been in a position to kill one of the werewolves with one arrow, he wouldn't have hesitated. His first shot had certainly been a skilled one, immobilizing one of the sisters when just shooting her likely wouldn't have hurt her much. But now, Bishop was keeping the other sister at bay with nothing but a pretense. And Brianna was quite certain that it wouldn't work forever.

"We just wanted a companion," the werewolf by the tree said then.

The voice startled Brianna. It still sounded like Jilla's, though more coarse and raw. She hadn't expected for the two of them to still be able to talk, with their form changed.

"We tried to resist… even though your blood smelled so very very sweet," the other werewolf, Mirri, chimed in. "We thought we might build a pack, wanted the gnome, not you. Leave him here, and we'll change him and take care of him and there will be no quarrel."

There was a very tense silence.

"Best offer I've heard all week," Bishop opined.

Brianna chewed her lip, but stopped once the consequences of drawing blood with her teeth occurred to her. Her mind raced, spurred on by adrenaline. Their chances in an all-out fight were bound to be low. She recalled hearing that there had been a werewolf plague in the area north of Neverwinter some years ago, but by all reports, the pack that had raged in the villages surrounding Port Llast had been wiped out. Still, she remembered spotting a seller of wolfsbane charms in town before leaving for Ember. The population still remembered the terror of the werewolves, and for good reason.

According to the folklore, they were far stronger when transformed, with a legendary ability to heal injuries inflicted by all weapons apart from those made of silver. Their bite transformed their victims into equals, if it did not kill outright, and they were repelled by the wolfsbane plant.

Brianna desperately wished she would have thought to bring some wolfsbane along.

_Be reasonable,_ a voice within her mind advised. _There was no way you could have anticipated this sort of trouble._

_That may be so_, she replied to herself, _but I'll be just as dead. Or a werewolf._

Then she wondered whether being a werewolf had as many drawbacks as one might think.

To her discomfort, she found herself considering the gnommish werewolf sisters' proposal.

"You won't hurt him?" she asked, her voice not nearly as steady as she might have wished. She closed her eyes for just a second, one moment to compose herself, and tried again.

"I'll have your word that you won't hurt him beyond inflicting a bite. That you won't _eat_ him, like you did to the miner in the cave."

"First time I've heard you talk sense, swamp girl," Bishop muttered. "First damn time."

"The miner was an accident," werewolf-Mirri said. Her voice carried a note of pain. "We never meant… never meant for any of this to happen. We were just gnomes, leaving Lantan, coming to the Duskwood. Then we met the old woman, and she... she fell on us, turned us, and then she left us all alone here. After we were bitten… the instinct is so overwhelming, we were so hungry, and the smell of fresh meat, fresh blood…"

"It fills you up," werewolf-Jilla added. "Until there's no more thinking, just feasting, and devouring."

Then, she licked her lips.

Werewolf-Mirri stared hungrily.

Brianna noticed both of these things happening in a fraction of a second, and in the same moment, she realized that there would be no compromise. They would not be able to walk away from this. The two small werewolves might be deluding themselves into believing they could let them go in exchange for Grobnar, but now that their secret was out, they would not turn away from fresh meat.

Not in the middle of winter, when wild animals to prey upon were all too rare.

Then, with a roar that sounded all too final, werewolf-Jilla tore her arm free, and the arrow which had held it in place splintered as the small, furred body lunged forward.

Bishop let another arrow fly, dropping his bow and going for his sword and dagger immediately afterwards, Brianna drew her swords and kicked snow at their two adversaries, and Sand… Sand was suddenly moving.

Brianna was nearly rattled enough to lose her focus. The wizard, who had been sitting motionlessly in the exact same position he had all night, cat in his lap, was now on his feet, magic flowing from his fingertips in the form of a rain of glowing missiles. One after the other they sank into Jilla's chest. The werewolf stumbled, and, groaning inhumanly, fell to her knees.

Mirri was only a single step behind her sister. Through the cloud of snow, she threw herself at Bishop, who barely evaded her. Brianna rushed to the ranger's aid.

Fighting the furred creature was far more troublesome than she might have imagined. They had the advantage in size, yes, but the first time Brianna managed a cut with her sword just to watch the wound heal and close within seconds, her heart sank. They had nothing to permanently hurt these creatures.

Sand appeared to have exhausted whatever secret reserves he had drawn upon in order to be able to cast a single spell from within the dampening field of the Duskwood. A lightning-quick glimpse confirmed that the wizard had collapsed into the snow not far from where werewolf-Jilla was laying. They had no weapons of silver, not even a piece of jewelry they might have used to improvise a weapon – her amulet was made of soft gold, which rendered it utterly useless under the current circumstances.

And Mirri's superhuman strength was worrisome all on its own. She was lashing out with her claws and snapping at them so quickly they could barely react, and only the fact that Brianna had trained with Bishop often enough by now to be able to anticipate many of his moves helped them in keeping up.

She was terrified of being bitten. From what she knew, a bite had only two possible outcomes – death, or being changed into a werewolf herself. She didn't exactly fancy a fur-covered body.

"Watch out," Bishop shouted, but she was too slow to react. One of Mirri's claws came at her, underhand, slicing at her armor and digging into it as though she were wearing thinnest parchment made to look like leather. Brianna yelped, feeling the sudden warmth and numbness indicating she'd been injured, just as the ranger delivered yet another useless attack that would heal faster than they could cut.

Mirri's canine nostrils flared.

"You'll taste so good," she groaned, sounding half-mad, making Brianna realize that the scent of her blood was probably hanging in the air heavy enough for them to smell, and she stumbled back while bringing her swords up defensively, for all the good it would do her.

Ignoring the ranger's weapon slicing at her back, the werewolf leaped towards Brianna.

Then a sudden splash of liquid drenched the side of Mirri's face. With a howl, the wolf-like body turned away and twisted in agony.

Brianna stared, as confused as she was fascinated. Then something hit her from the side like a moving stone wall, and she fell.

Jilla was on top of her, clawing madly. Brianna desperately brought one of her swords between them, using all of her strength to keep the blade up in hopes of slowing the assault. The gnome werewolf's jaws were so close to her throat, terrifyingly close, and she had no idea whether Sand or Bishop were in any position at all to help her.

Jilla's teeth snapped, saliva dripping from her tongue. Brianna's entire body twisted as she attempted to push the werewolf away, but she only managed to move herself to a more painful position, her leg twisting at a bad angle, her muscles aching, and something painfully sharp digging into her flesh at the hip. She couldn't…

The werewolf's tongue was lapping at the blood her claws had drawn above Brianna's collarbone. Brianna heard herself groaning with effort as she tried to pit her strength against that of the beast in an effort to move her blade, to slice at the furred face, the tongue trailing along her wound, drooling…

Something sharp was still pressed tightly against her hip, and for some reason, part of her mind appeared to think it was important…

Her pouch of shards.

She nearly let go of her sword when she finally realized.

_Silver_ shards.

Her mind worked as furiously as her body. She needed both hands on her sword in order to have a chance against the beast atop her, but without use of her hands she couldn't get to the shards, which put her in a bit of a dilemma that she wished she had more time to solve. But as soon as her strength waned in the slightest, as soon as those teeth made contact with her flesh…

Something impacted the werewolf's side and sent the grey-furred body tumbling through the snow. The next moment Bishop had rolled across Brianna as well, stumbling to his feet far more sluggishly than she would have expected of him. He was hurt. And he'd just tackled a werewolf with his bare hands.

She didn't even realize her hands were digging for the shards until she felt the largest one, the first one from back in West Harbor, cutting into her palm through her glove. Managing a clumsy sideways roll and watching uncomfortably as her momentum sent drops of her own blood to paint the snow, she once again nearly spotted the movement too late.

Jilla had recovered fast, and was flinging herself now at Bishop.

The ranger stumbled, went down, the werewolf on top, and then Brianna had thrown herself on top of both of them and was desperately stabbing the shard into the beast's back, trying to find its heart, but not even sure whether it mattered. All that fueled her now was her own heart, still racing with the terror of it all. Over and over she pierced the thick skin, her hands mechanically repeating the motion, unthinking, uncaring even when all movement beneath her ceased.

Then her strength faded and the shard slipped from her grasp.

"There now," said a voice that had a surprisingly kind, caring tone to it, and a gentle hand rolled her off the werewolf-ranger pile and onto her back in the snow.

She blinked up and at Sand.

Someone, somewhere, was softly humming a melody.

Or maybe she was delusional.

She was also starting to hurt quite badly.

"Help me up," she managed to croak, and Sand tried his best to pull her by her shoulders into a more vertical position. She pushed with her arms, trying to ignore the burning by her right shoulder and down by her hip, and together, they managed.

Next to her, Bishop had pushed away the dead body that had kept him pinned down, and was sitting up as well.

"Nice work, swamp girl," he said. His tone lacked the customary sharpness. The ranger just sounded tired.

"Same to you, ranger boy" she said, her voice jittery, and was inordinately proud of herself for managing this much of a reply, even if it was a rather stupid one.

"Who's singing?" Bishop asked then.

Simultaneously, they all turned to look.

Grobnar was sitting up in his nest of blankets, firmly clutching them all to his chest and rocking back and forth mechanically in a motion Brianna had seen children use to comfort themselves. The gnome's eyes were squeezed shut tightly. He was deathly pale.

Before him lay the werewolf that was Mirri.

Brianna couldn't bring herself to feel anything more than mild surprise that the former gnome girl was still alive, though apparently barely so. Whatever liquid Sand had splashed at her had eaten its way through her fur, leaving large patches of skin bare and bloody. Iridescent white ropes that seemed a little too shiny to be quite real had wound themselves tightly around the creature's hands and feet, keeping her down. When Brianna looked more closely, she realized that their bright shine appeared to pulse along to the melody of Grobnar's little tune.

"That." Bishop's voice was weary. "What _is_ that?"

"Bardic magic." Sand sounded mildly baffled. "I had no idea he could do that."

Brianna thought that getting up might be an excellent idea, because she was starting to fight the crazy temptation to use the snow for a pillow and go to sleep right there and then. She rolled over and onto her knees. The simple movement required enough effort to make her think she might collapse. Her right shoulder and collarbone were numb.

"He's put a spell on her?" She tried to understand what was going on, but there was just too much not making sense here. "Sand, you owe me an explanation. A couple of them, actually. I thought there was no spellcasting in the Duskwood. How did you d it, then, and how is Grobnar doing it now?"

The wizard, as always when he was asked questions he considered beneath him, looked mildly peeved , but he reached to assist Brianna in getting to her feet.

"I cast a single spell. Do you know how much energy it took me to break through the dampening field, to force a conduit to the weave that lasted only seconds? Several hours of meditation…"

Brianna raised a hand to cut him off. They didn't have the time to waste on meaningless chatter.

"Bardic magic?" she prompted him.

"Works very differently from my own brand of magic, and I have not studied it closely enough to be able to give you a comprehensive explanation." Sand eyed the rocking gnome. "I had no idea he had any actual magic to his songs. I would wager a guess though that this little enchantment will only last while the music does."

"We'd best get to killing then, hadn't we?"

Bishop stumbled to his feet. It took Brianna a moment to realize that the ranger had picked up her bloodied shard, weighing it in his gloved hand like he might any weapon.

Her common sense caught up to reality then, and she turned and looked fully at the werewolf then that had been a reserved gnome girl with dark braids only an hour ago.

Mirri was in pain. Even on the beastly face Brianna could read that clearly, and the dull eyes and shallow breathing didn't do much to alter that impression. Blood was seeping from the shoulder and the side of the face that had been stripped bare of fur.

"What did you splash her with?" Brianna wanted to know. "Acid?"

Sand, despite everything, looked smug. She thought the particular facial expression had to be a reflex he couldn't have suppressed to save his life.

"A common potion ingredient which I happened to be carrying in my pack, dissolved in a beaker of melted snow."

"Acid?" she asked again, too tired to play guessing games. Even so, she knew that it didn't make sense, that Mirri's wolf form should have been able to heal the damage within seconds.

"Silver nitrite," the wizard replied.

_Ah. _

"You're a clever bastard, Sand" she gave him the best compliment she was currently capable of giving. "When the hells did you prepare that?"

"Beneath my cloak," the wizard replied, and busied himself brushing bits of snow from his clothing as though it was dust and they were back in his shop, studying ancient books of law. "While you two were busy antagonizing gnomes and cozying up to each other."

She gave him her best effort at a glare, which didn't amount to much. "I thought you were sleeping. Meditating. Whatever."

"Jaral woke me once it became apparent to him that something strange was afoot. I thought it strategical to maintain the illusion that I was in reverie."

"You could have given me a hint, damn it." As soon as the realization hit her, Brianna's thankfulness turned to irritation. "If you were busy mixing up silver nitrite, you must have realized about them being werewolves long before we figured it out."

"Be that as it may," Sand started, obviously preparing to defend his actions, but Brianna had no intentions of hearing him out.

"You're going to finish that werewolf, or what?" she snapped at Bishop, who was still standing there with the shard in his hands.

He looked mildly startled for a moment. Just when she realized her mistake, he tossed the shard at her. She barely managed to catch it.

"You do it, if you're so eager."

_Damn it.  
_

Killing in combat was different from killing someone who was helpless before her. She had done it before, and at times it had been easy, but she doubted that this would be one of those times.

She turned the bloody shard in her hand, and stepped towards Mirri.

Grobnar was still humming his tune. The wispy ropes remained tightly around the werewolf's limbs, so insubstantial, yet effective.

_Bardic magic._ Grobnar was certainly turning out to be full of surprises.

She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to focus what remained of her energy.

Would it be easiest to pierce Mirri's heart, like she suspected she had done to Jilla? Slitting her throat would be messy, certainly, but would it provide a quicker end for the gnome girl? No, she would bleed out far too slowly.

Did she want to give the creature a quick end?

Brianna opened her eyes again and stared. Mirri would have killed her, _had_ killed at least one other person. Yet she had acted like there was no choice to be made, like surviving was all that mattered, and Brianna understood that sentiment well.

If Mirri or Jilla had managed to bite her, would she have acted differently? She suspected she might have been even less noble about finding victims than the two gnome girls had been. And they hadn't chosen their cursed state, either.

She realized that the longer she thought, the more difficult she made things for herself. She _couldn't_ leave Mirri alive, even if there was a way to guarantee that they would be able to leave the Duskwood in safety. Even Bishop, master of unscrupulous decisions, would surely call her mad for considering to leave a werewolf on the loose.

Squinting, she adjusted her grip on the shard and knelt by the werewolf's side, trying to gouge where its heart was located. She didn't want this to turn into yet another blind, messy cutting operation.

The werewolf emitted a weak groan.

Then, the entirety of the body changed, fur shrinking away, the snout shortening and vanishing, the skin lightening.

Then Brianna was staring at Mirri the gnome.

Dull, dark eyes looked into hers.

"End it," the girl asked in a voice that was weak, but her own. "Jilla…"

_Oh hells no._

Brianna stumbled to her feet.

It was too much to ask. She'd been through too much this day, she could handle all of it, and this last killing, made so impossibly difficult all of a sudden…

She didn't even realize she'd been backing up until her injured shoulder collided with Sand. She was too preoccupied to pay all that much attention to the pain.

"Please," she said, turning to Bishop and holding out the shard. "I just _can't,_ alright? Call me weak all you like."

He didn't even waste time sneering at her. Ignoring the shard, he stalked right past her, and she forced herself to watch as he knelt by Mirri, grasped her small head in both his hands and with a single, efficient move snapped her neck.

Well.

It had been quick, at least.

"Thanks," Brianna said weakly, and averted her eyes from the small, unmoving form.

Grobnar stopped his tune. The little bard seemed to realize it was no longer needed, and the white ropes that had held Mirri's body vanished without a trace. He still had his eyes tightly shut, as though afraid of what he might see if he opened them.

Brianna crawled through the snow and to his side.

"Grobnar," she said gently. His head turned her way, and his eyes opened.

She grasped his shoulders as much to hold herself up as to prevent him from seeing the dead bodies in the snow, one a furred beast, the other a young girl. There were some things the little bard just shouldn't know.

"It's good to see you awake," she told him, for lack of anything else to say.

"It is good to be awake, as well," he told her seriously. "Though I shall miss my fascinating dream discourse with the Wendersnaven. They were going to bring me some Elderberry tea, as well. Pity I never got around to that part of the dream, I do feel a little peckish."

She should have told him to go back to sleep. They had a campsite here, a fire already built, and Brianna felt so weak that she estimated the number of steps she would be able to take in her condition before sinking into the snow unconscious was rather low indeed.

"Can you walk?" she asked instead. "Just until we find a campsite, a bit further… away."

She had though at least one of her companions would protest the insane idea. When she turned to look at Sand and Bishop, however, she read in both their faces their discomfort with staying at the cave, the bodies of Jilla and Mirri so near, knowing there was a third, mauled corpse only a few steps away.

As she helped the gnome to his feet, Bishop wordlessly shouldered Brianna's pack and picked up his bow. Sand got to collecting his things, and Brianna, finally, remembered that she was injured and found a clean cloth to press against her wounds until they could be properly dressed. It was probably yet another stupid decision, but she did not want to waste time on medical details in this place. The wound wasn't deep, and nothing vital had been injured.

They lined up when they were ready, Bishop in the front, then Brianna, stumbling tiredly and hoping she wouldn't just keel over. Grobnar followed her, still pale and quiet, but walking on his own two feet. Sand was last, keeping a close eye on both the gnome and Brianna.

They left the warm, inviting campsite with its still-roaring fire behind and made their way into the fog.


	58. Nature's Blessing

_Author's Note: I'd like to say a heartfelt "Thank You!" to Bokhi for the kind and lovely review, as unfortunately I do not have any other way of contacting them. I appreciate the support so very much! I hope that you'll enjoy future chapters just as much and that I'll be able to meet those high expectations. :)_

* * *

**Nature's Blessing**

Brianna had never before been awoken by someone sitting on top of her.

At least, she thought that was what was happening. She felt a weight on her pelvis, not heavy enough to be uncomfortable but definitely _there_, and a bit of pressure on both her sides as though someone's knees were settled there. In addition, something soft and feathery was tickling her cheek, and there was a sound in the air, like feminine laughter.

Utterly confused, she struggled to shake off the remnants of sleep and forced her eyes open, just to look straight at the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

_Woman_ was the wrong word. Brianna's sleep-addled mind managed to recall meeting the succubi, back in the githyanki cave, doing the warlock's bidding. They had been too perfect, as well. The creature straddling her had skin far too smooth and soft to be quite real, eyes sparkling like emeralds even in the near-darkness. Her hair, long, silky and white as the glittering snow, cascaded over the woman's bare shoulder and brushed Brianna's face, and when she breathed in, she smelled forest, fallen leaves and moss and a fresh winter breeze rustling through the trees, far more intense than she had ever smelled them before.

It occurred to her to wonder why there was a dryad of the Duskwood sitting on top of her.

She could remember doing anything that would have warranted catching the creature's attention. They had made their way through a sizable portion of the Duskwood before Bishop had found a clearing he had considered suitable to make a camp. Sand had taken it upon himself to patch up Brianna's shoulder and to tuck Grobnar into his bedroll while Bishop had collected whatever reasonably dry wood he could find for a fire. Then the wizard had volunteered to take the first watch, and she had thankfully sunken into sleep. That was all there had been to it. They had harmed no trees, nor done anything to incur the wrath of any forest creature.

And now there was a dryad sitting on her, nude, with delicate blossoms of snowdrop growing from her hair, and she was rolling her hips as though simulating a sex act. Brianna felt the heat rushing into her face once the thought occurred to her.

"Good morning, Lorne," the forest spirit purred, and Brianna had two thoughts in a somewhat baffling order.

The first one was _It isn't morning yet, you stupid tree-thing, and I really do need my sleep,_ and the second one was _Who the hell is Lorne?_

She did not voice either of these thoughts.

"Hello," she said instead, feeling a bit dazed.

The dryad tossed her waterfall of white hair behind her bare back in a practiced motion before putting a pout on her face.

"You've been naughty, Lorne," she whispered, her voice honeyed and seductive. "You've been a very naughty boy. I waited so long for you to come back."

Brianna found herself wondering whether there were many dryads around these parts that needed their eyesight checked by a good cleric. She was about to say as much, to get the damned creature off of her, but the dryad's next words caused any reply to die on Brianna's tongue.

"Still wearing the disguise of that girl too." The forest spirit shook her head and tutted. "Getting rather fond of having woman parts, are you?" Slim fingers tickled Brianna's chest through her cotton undershirt and playfully cupped her breasts. The dryad giggled.

Brianna kept her face completely blank as she tried to wrap her head around the situation.

There was a dryad sitting on her who apparently thought she was a man named Lorne.

A man who wore Brianna's face.

The realization smacked her full-on in the face, and it was through sheer strength of will and desperation that she kept her features from showing just how important any information would be that the dryad might have.

"Well, _Lorne_." The cutting voice chiming in off to the side was that of Sand. Brianna barely turned her head in the direction of the wizard when the dryad's nails were already digging into her skin.

"Who's that?" the spirit hissed.

Brianna made a fair guess that the wizard had probably heard the important parts of the dryad's babbling, and drawn the same conclusion she had. His use of the man's name certainly suggested that, as did Sand's next words.

"Yes, why don't you introduce us, Lorne? Actually, it might be better if I did myself, as you'll certainly mangle it."

Brianna had a general idea as to what the wizard might be going for, but she wished he'd hurry up already. The dryad's nails were bloody sharp, and she'd been injured enough for one night already. Luckily, the forest spirit straightened up and loosened her grip when Sand approached and nodded his head in greeting.

"My name is Sand. I am a lawyer by profession. Lorne here hired me to help him make the most of the Ember situation. We traveled into the Duskwood to make sure that certain pieced of… evidence wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. He failed to make mention of you, however."

Brianna thought she knew why Sand was talking so openly. The best way to compel someone to share information was to lead by example, putting pressure on them to reciprocate. She had no issues with the wizard taking the lead, as she doubted she would do a very good job of impersonating the man named Lorne.

She didn't even _know_ anyone named Lorne – well, unless you counted Bevil Starling's older brother, from back in West Harbor. She sincerely doubted that the short-tempered fellow swamp farmer was the one working with Torio Claven in an elaborate plot to frame her for murder, however.

The dryad's lovely face showed a hint of irritation.

"I'm not surprised," she muttered in reply to Sand's words. The tips of her fingers were still trailing wavy lines down Brianna's upper body. "He was not supposed to mention me to _anyone_, and he certainly should not have brought you here. But what is done is done. My name is Lyssa. I am the one who supplied him the secret of his current form, in exchange for certain Hosttower secrets he was supposed to bring me."

The dryad's attention turned back to Brianna. "I am assuming you _do_ have them with you, my sweet? It would be rather foolish of you to rest beneath my tree without having fulfilled your part of the bargain."

"Yeah," Brianna lied wildly, trying her best to sound like a man who murdered innocent villagers. "I've got them."

"Interesting," Sand warbled, "well, that does certainly explain a few things. Say, what is the secret to attaining this, er, attractive female form?"

Brianna stared daggers at the wizard until shew remembered that she was supposed to be Lorne, and that Lorne probably wouldn't care. _A hulking, bald man, big like an ogre,_ Marcus had described him. Brianna tried her best to get into the mindset.

"Another traveler, a wizard from faraway Thay who was lost in this forest a long time ago, gifted me the potion as thanks for sheltering him and showing him the path to his destination. I haven't got much of it left, if you were planning to use it yourself." Lyssa the dryad had crossed her arms before her ample chest. "And in fact, I had an agreement with Lorne here to give him what I had remaining of it after he turned over the scrolls and texts I need for the defense of my grove. I thought he might use it to cause more mischief, but now, I think he's just a little obsessed with the body of that girl he impersonated."

Brianna stared in horror. Lyssa, thankfully, misinterpreted the facial expression and laughed heartily.

"Oh, don't go getting upset at me for spilling your secret, my sweet," she purred and ran her fingers through Brianna's hair. "We've all got our little obsessions. And once I've got my scrolls, you can use the rest of the potion however you please. You'll need another drop of her blood, of course, but you came by the last one just fine, so I assume it won't be a problem."

"It better not be," Brianna grunted, attempting to sound like a hulking and ogre-like man might sound speaking with her voice.

The dryad laughed again. The sound was so melodious, Brianna thought the snow around her might melt just from the warmth of it.

Then Lyssa bent down and kissed her.

It was so utterly unexpected an action, Brianna had no idea what to do. There were soft lips on hers, and thick, snow white curls falling onto her face, and hands caressing her body, and a warm tongue licking at her lips, and it all felt _odd_, so very odd…

When the dryad released her, Brianna gasped for breath.

"That was just a little thank you for bringing me the scrolls," Lyssa whispered. "The rest of the Changing potion is yours too, beneath the roots of my oak. Now, if you'll kindly hand over my Hosttower treasure."

Brianna, still mostly stunned, looked towards Sand. The wizard appeared to be at a loss.

"Er," he said, looking around frantically, presumably for something with which to fool the dryad.

Brianna couldn't stop herself from looking around as well. There was little to their camp but the burnt out fire, a snoring gnome and Sand's pile of alchemical equipment.

Lyssa was attentive enough to catch both their reactions.

"You don't have it?" the dryad hissed, her hands clenched into fists. "You _dare_ show up here without what is rightfully mine, what we agreed upon?" A pair of surprisingly strong hands grasped fistfuls of Brianna's hair.

"Well, you see, it's all rather complicated," Brianna tried to talk down the forest spirit. "The thing is, we do have the scrolls, but there was a bit of, ah, an accident, well, more of a precaution, really, so they are in a safe place which we will certainly tell you about once you _let go of my hair…"_

The dryad didn't even appear to want to consider letting go, and it occurred to Brianna that the one man who had no qualms about slapping around a pretty woman, and who on top of that had also been the one on watch, was conspicuously missing from her field of vision.

"Sand, where's Bishop?" she asked the wizard through clenched teeth.

"I was enjoying the view," the ranger himself replied, not five feet from her, and shot the dryad straight through the head.

Dumbly, Brianna watched the arrow quivering obscenely in the forest spirit's ear. The supernatural sparkle left the emerald-colored eyes, and a moment later hands unclenched from Brianna's hair and the delicate form of the dryad slumped sideways and to the ground.

Brianna stared at the ranger.

There had been too much death. Mirri and Jilla had been necessary, and she regretted having to do what she had done, having to take their lives. Now, seeing him end another life so casually, to watch a creature of such beauty die before her, her mind refused to accept the fact and move on.

"That wasn't necessary," she said through teeth gritted with suppressed fury. "She could have been useful."

"She was about to call on the forest for aid," Bishop noted, putting his bow onto his back. "You ever seen a dryad do that? Have bears rushing out of the undergrowth, half-mad from being woken from hibernation, roots shooting out of the ground to trip you, squirrels going for your throat? Take my word for it, it's not fun. I've seen it happen only once, here in the Duskwood, and I was damn lucky I wasn't the target."

"But she could have testified…"

"She couldn't have." Sand's voice was quite gentle. "Take her too far from her tree, and she'll wither away and die within hours. Even if we could get around these boundaries, spirits of the forest are fickle things, it is unlikely a court of law would accept her testimony."

Brianna felt ready to punch the old oak tree that had been the dryad's home.

_Why does everything have to be so difficult? Life used to be simple._

It was the first time she had ever felt anything remotely close to yearning for her life back in West Harbor.

"Well," she said, climbing to her feet, "since we're nearly all up now, how about packing up and heading home?"

The ranger peered towards the sky. "Nearly sunrise," he stated, and shrugged. "Fine with me."

Sand, likewise, raised his hands to indicate indifference.

"That's a yes then," Brianna decided, her voice full of forced, false cheer. She was not in any position that afforded her the luxury of being broody, of mourning the corpses they were leaving behind in the Duskwood. Their fire had burned down, and Port Llast was several hours' walk away, and her body no longer even remembered how cold it was because it was so numb. They needed to get back into the warmth, and it was all that mattered just now.

She brushed the snow off her bedroll while Sand woke the gnome and Bishop busied himself scattering the ashes of their campfire. During the entire time they packed up camp, Brianna tried her best to ignore the slender body that still lay closeby, crumpled and lifeless, but blinders made of will were no longer enough when she saw Bishop crouching by the dryad's corpse.

"What exactly are you doing?" she demanded to know, arching an eyebrow at the knife the ranger had drawn from his belt.

He gave her a single glance before focusing on twining his fingers round the shock of silvery white hair.

"Don't tell me you don't know how much the going price is for dryad's hair back in Neverwinter," he said simply.

Brianna supposed it shouldn't have mattered, with the forest spirit dead and gone and beyond caring whether someone cut off her hair and sold it for profit. Still, she couldn't help but feel disgusted. When Bishop made the first cut, she turned her head away, feeling like a coward once again.

She could barely bring herself to care about the bulbous bottle of murky brown potion Sand extracted from between the oak's tangled roots, either. She knew the Changing potion was an important piece of evidence, if not the most important, as it solved the mystery of her having been impersonated, but now, in the middle of the forest surrounded by death and so damn tired of it, that didn't matter to her. Certainly she would find the time later, back in the warmth and with a full belly, to rejoice at their find.

Her hands were fiddling with the strings of her pack when Grobnar approached. The little bard still had a bit of trouble staying upright, but he was gamely trying, no doubt looking forward to food and a warm bed as much as they all were. Still kneeling, she turned her head towards him.

"What is it?" she asked wearily.

"Well," Grobnar said, looking reluctant. "I was doing a bit of thinking, earlier, just as I woke, and it occurred to me, well…"

She tied the last knot with rather more force than strictly necessary. "Out with it."

"What happened?" The gnome sounded lost. "I remember… well, I remember the well, and going down into the cavern, and then not much for some time afterwards, and at first I thought that this might simply be because the cavern was very dark and there was nothing to remember because I wouldn't have _seen_ anything to remember, you see, but then I thought that I should at least remember walking through the darkness because I certainly would have stubbed my toe at some point and then there would have been the pain to remember, but, but…"

She put her hands on his shoulders at this point simply as a way to stop the flood of words. He trailed off and stared at her, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.

"You fell down the well," she explained, trying for a gentle tone of voice. "Crashed into the ice. We pulled you out of the water and kept you warm, but you slept for a long time. Bishop carried you through the cavern, and then through the forest."

"Oh my. Well. I see." Grobnar nodded his head slowly and repeatedly, as though somehow physically working through the information. Concentration was written on his features. "But… the Wendersnaven? Did we meet them? Did they have tea?"

He was looking absurdly hopeful.

Brianna frowned.

"Er… that depends," she replied, trying to figure out why it was Grobnar kept babbling that word. "What, exactly, are the Wendersnaven?"

"Why the Wendersnaven!" To Grobnar, somehow, it appeared to be obvious. "The Wendersnaven. The all seeing, all knowing, mystical and mythical Wendersnaven!"

"Right," she said. "Er…we met… there were two…"

She tried to sort her words for several seconds before deciding to give up on it. Trying to have an actual conversation with Grobnar about a subject like this was pointless.

"You know, we might have," she said at random, her sleep-deprived mind struggling to keep up. "We met someone fitting that description, for sure."

"We did? Oh, and I missed it!" For a moment, Grobnar looked crushed, but then his features brightened again. "But this must have been their plan all along! Only those who don't know about the Wendersnaven could ever see the Wendersnaven, because once you know about the Wendersnaven, they prefer to remain unknown. So of course logic dictates that they couldn't make themselves known to someone who knows about the Wendersnaven, though of course logic dictates nothing to the Wendersnaven!"

His voice had risen to a crescendo, and he was clapping his hands excitedly.

"If you don't shut him up, I will," Bishop said nearby.

"They do like logic, though." Grobnar seemed oblivious to the threat. "The Wendersnaven do love their riddles, or so legend has it, created by logic and solved through logic, so of course it would be logical…"

Brianna's hands squeezed down on the little Bard's shoulders once again.

"Grobnar," she said softly, and he stopped talking at once. "I know this is exciting, but you're tiring yourself out. Hush and rest, until we're ready to go, alright?"

He nodded and obediently went to sit down on his blanket.

"By the gods, I think my ears may be bleeding," Sand said absent-mindedly, handing Brianna her empty rations pouch as he passed by.

She promptly peered beneath his veil of silky hair on both sides to check.

"You're good," she informed him.

His smile was more of a grimace stretched across his face.

"Yes, well, comforting as that is, I cannot stress enough how much of a relief it will be to return to civilization, if just for the luxury of being able to leave the room when the gnome starts talking."

"I know." She stowed the pouch away and stood, her pack tied and ready. "I can't wait for a warm bath. I don't care how many coppers I waste on it, either."

"There is, of course, quite a bit of work yet to be done." The wizard tilted his head elegantly. "I will have to sort through the evidence, examine the child for its suitability as a witness, fill out enough legal forms to turn my hair white, prepare your defense…"

He was ticking of the points on his long, gloved fingers as he spoke. Brianna wished he hadn't reminded her of the trial. Of course, she never quite managed to forget about it entirely, but the feelings of blind panic, as always, did their job in making her entire body feel like it had been filled with lead.

"You think we have enough?" she wanted to know. "Enough evidence to prove I didn't do it?"

"Enough evidence to mount a suitable defense, which combined with my rhetorical talents and a bit of luck may be able to cast reasonable doubts on the ambassador's claim."

His words did nothing to quell the panic.

"Thanks, Sand," she said, resigned.

"You are of course quite welcome, dear girl."

She tried desperately to keep her mind away from the matter and let Sand worry about the details, but her fickle imagination would not let her. As they began the march back to Port Llast, she caught herself repeatedly thinking up court room scenarios that might tilt things in Luskan's favor, ways in which the ambassador might dismiss her evidence, details Sand might have missed that could help to condemn her.

Her extensive study of Neverwinter laws and trials was her downfall when combined with her hyperactive imagination and sense of impending doom. The fourth time she blinked to erase the image of a gloating Ambassador Claven as Lord Nasher himself pronounced her guilty, she found herself veering towards the ranger out of sheer desperation. She _needed_ to take her mind of the damn trial.

"What do you want?" he asked when she approached.

"About your knife," she broached the first topic that entered her mind which might needle him. "Um…"

"You owe me," he said at once.

"No I don't." She was, ridiculously, almost glad that he was putting up an argument, because it kept her occupied with thinking about possible replies. "You got a better knife out of the deal."

"I didn't _want _a better knife."

"Fine. I'll ask Marcus what he did once we get back to the inn, and he can undo it. Happy?"

"No," he said rather petulantly.

She rolled her eyes.

"I don't see what you're so bloody grumpy about. You got Dryad's hair, too."

"I was the one who shot the damn Dryad," he said at once.

"You wouldn't even have _seen_ her if wasn't for me being there."

"Well, that's true." She was surprised to hear him say that, and even more to see him actually looking thoughtful. Then he spoke again.

"Can't wait to tell Duncan that story. Wonder what he'll say when he hears about you making out with a Dryad."

_Oh hells. Not that again._

Granted, this wasn't anywhere near as bad as the other secret Bishop had blackmailed her about, but she still didn't appreciate him trying to pull this again. When she spoke, she tried to sound confident.

"He won't say anything, because you won't tell him."

She nearly stumbled on a root because she was glaring at him to intently.

"What's stopping me?"

She tried to come up with something halfway clever, but her mind failed her spectacularly.

"Thought so," he said when she didn't speak.

"Well," she said when something finally occurred to her, "maybe you'd like me to keep paying you."

"Won't last much longer anyway, with you about to be sentenced to death and all," he shrugged.

"You're such a positive person." She stepped over another root just in time. "How about you don't tell Duncan because I asked so nicely? That work for you?"

She didn't really think so, but it was worth an attempt.

"I'll _enjoy_ telling him." There was a crooked sort of smile suddenly on the ranger's face. "Might even embellish it some." His hand grasped a snow-covered branch, and before she could duck or step aside he had flicked it at her.

"They are never going to find your corpse," she promised darkly, wiping the snow from her face.

His laugh, dark and rough, reminded her of a dog's bark.

"Don't worry, swamp girl. I'm sure your uncle met a dryad or two in his time. He'll know what it's like."

"If he has," she said, "I never, ever want to know the details."

There was a moment of silence. Then the ranger turned his head to look at her for the first time in the conversation.

"You know, in that one thing at least, we're in complete agreement."


	59. Revelations

**Revelations**

Neeshka shrieked when they entered the common room of the Alliance Arms Inn.

Brianna was, of course, happy to see the tiefling as well. She was tired enough to fall asleep standing, however, and couldn't help but wince when Neeshka enthusiastically put her arms around Brianna.

"Ouch. Hurt!" she croaked, wobbling precariously.

The tiefling continued to hug her, but considerably less tightly.

"Where _were_ you? We bought some rope and went back and lowered Khelgar down, but you were already gone and he said he didn't 'want ter get lost in that stinkin' cavern'…"

The tiefling was doing her best dwarven accent, which Brianna thought could have used a little practice.

"We tried to find someone who knew where the caves led, even offered a bit of gold to some of the folks around town, but once they figured out it was you we were looking to save, nobody was interested. You've _really_ got a reputation around these parts."

"Yes," Brianna said, patting the tiefling's back a bit awkwardly. "Appreciate it. Need to sit."

As soon as Neeshka stepped back, she did just that. The bearskin rug before the fireplace seemed as good a spot as any, so she sank down onto it with a sigh. Soft and warm, it felt like the most comfortable thing in the world.

"Goodness, you look like death warmed over."

She raised her head and blinked at Malin. The blond half-elven woman had been standing near the fireplace and was now looking down at Brianna with a pronounced frown on her pretty face.

"How long were you out in the cold? You must be frozen half solid."

"Probably," Brianna said vaguely, trying to wiggle her toes. They had been numb for a long while, and she determined after a moment that it might be better to keep her boots on until she regained some measure of feeling there. Trying to take them off now would just be painful.

"Anyway," Neeshka said, sitting down beside her, cross-legged. "What happened?"

Brianna glanced around the room, checking for the rest of her companions. Bishop had stalked off in search of his wolf before even entering the inn, Grobnar had been sent straight to bed, and Sand was currently in conversation with the innkeeper, probably requesting the services of a cleric for the gnome, like they had agreed.

"Where's Khelgar?" she wanted to know when she couldn't spot the dwarf where she would have expected him, drinking by the bar. "Shandra?"

"I'm here." The blond farmgirl had stepped down the stairs just in time to hear her name. "Khelgar went back out to see Haeromos, I think, he should be back soon. Gods it's good to see you. We were worried to death."

"I want to know what happened." Neeshka was still sitting up straight, tail twitching, obviously expecting a grand tale. "Tell!"

Brianna opened her mouth, then promptly closed it again and accepted a steaming mug from Malin. The strong aroma of mulled wine entered her nose and reminded her stomach of the fact that it was empty. As it growled, Shandra pressed a slice of bread into her other hand.

"There," the woman said, sounding satisfied. "That's you all taken care of." She sat down as well, looking expectant.

"Um," Brianna said, and then stuffed her mouth with bread to buy a bit of time to think. Where to start? Some of the past day's events she had no desire to talk about in detail, and others were difficult to explain. And she was so damned tired on top of it all.

"If anyone sees Calindra," she said when the most important thing occurred to her, "please let her know her mining partner Bradbury was eaten by werewolves."

Shandra yelped. Neeshka's eyes widened, and Malin leaned forward, still wearing her frown.

"If that was a joke, it wasn't very funny," the woman ranger told her sternly.

Brianna glared.

"It wasn't very funny when I had a damn werewolf on top of me, trying to tear my throat out, either."

Malin paled.

"Haeromos will have to know," she determined. "If there's a new pack forming…"

"We killed them, back in the Duskwood." Brianna knew her voice was devoid of emotion, but she couldn't bring herself to revisit her feelings about Mirri's and Jilla's deaths for the sake of her listeners. "They're gone."

"Wow," Neeshka said, taking a sip from a tankard she had procured from somewhere. "Werewolves. I'm glad I sat that one out, now."

Rubbing her eyes, Brianna realized that the deed sounded a whole lot more impressive if she failed to mention that the werewolves in question had been gnomes. She didn't bother rectifying the mistake. With any luck, the story would make the rounds in Port Llast and lead to people being impressed by her bravery and doubting the Luskan accusations against her.

"Then we met a dryad, and Bishop shot her and cut off her hair," she continued her recollection. Nobody seemed particularly surprised by this.

"What, he didn't make her any indecent offers first?" Malin asked coolly.

"No." Brianna tried not to think about the dryad incident too hard, either. "That's all that happened, really." Sand hadn't wanted her to talk about anything involving the trial, so she didn't make mention of the evidence they had found.

"Honestly, we were just worried sick." Shandra shook her head. "And poor Calindra. I don't want to be the one telling her about… er..."

"Well, I don't either," Brianna said, feeling rather cross about the issue. "And since I was the one who found the half-devoured body, my unpleasant business limit is reached for the next tenday. Someone else can go tell her."

"I'll do it," Malin volunteered. "I'm quite sure she's at the docks right now to pick up a shipment, but I'll catch her once she gets back."

Brianna was surprised that the woman, who owed her nothing, would agree to the task, but she was not about to question Malin's motives in the matter.

"Thanks," she said, and realized she was finally getting warm, sitting in front of the fire in all her gear. She tugged off her gloves, bending and flexing her fingers to fight the stiffness, and went to work on the buckles of her armor. Undoing them proved to be a more challenging task than she'd thought.

"Here, I'll help." Setting her tankard aside, Neeshka leaned forward and deftly assisted her in loosening the leather straps. "Ugh. This'll need a thorough cleaning soon."

"Yeah, I know." Brianna tossed her cloak to the side and shrugged clumsily out of her armor, eying the damage Mirri's claws had done. "Repair, too."

"I'll get you a bargain on that back in Neverwinter," the tiefling assured her. "But you've _got_ to do something about the blood stink!"

"Most of it isn't even mine, it's werewolf blood." Brianna carefully laid the leather aside. "And some of Bishop's, probably."

"Well that's _obviously_ rancid," said Shandra.

Malin pulled another face at the mention of the ranger, and Brianna was suddenly reminded of the questions she had been meaning to ask the woman.

Well, no time like the present. They wouldn't be here much longer, anyway, and even though Brianna was tired, she'd rather have this over with.

She took a deep gulp of her mulled wine.

"Might I have a word in private?" she asked the half-elven woman politely.

Neeshka gave her a surprised glance. Brianna had never made it a habit to exclude the tiefling from any conversations, but seeing the way Malin reacted to Bishop, or any mention of him, she thought this was a matter best handled one on one.

_I'll tell you later_, she mouthed therefore in Neeshka's direction.

Shandra left without a fuss, and the tiefling followed her up the stairs just a moment later. Brianna watched as Malin made herself comfortable before the fire, stretching her long legs and sorting out her hair.

"Is this about Bishop?" the woman then asked bluntly.

"Yes," Brianna replied, just as bluntly.

"Great." Malin rolled her eyes and stared wistfully towards the bar. "Can this wait until after I've had my fill of whiskey for the night, at least?"

"How about drinking while you tell me? That work for you?" Brianna raised her tired arm and signaled Falgor. The innkeeper gave her a nod.

Malin shrugged. "I guess. Before I start though, why do you even want to know?"

Brianna considered this question for a moment. It was difficult for her to understand why she _wouldn't_ want to know. Even though she had gotten used to dealing with the ranger ever since she – or rather Duncan – had recruited his services to help in Shandra's rescue, the fact remained that he was, in essence, a dangerous man. He killed without remorse, took advantage where he could, and she remembered only too well Duncan's warning about Bishop's loyalty reaching, at best, as far as her gold. So far she hadn't seen anything that might prove her uncle wrong.

And she had only recently admitted to herself that she still didn't quite know how to handle the ranger. The problem was, though, that Bishop's skills were too damn useful for her to do the smart thing and leave him behind. She could have found another tracker if she'd been willing to look for one, certainly, but he had saved her from certain death twice at the very least, and training with him had elevated her swordsmanship to a level she couldn't have reached any other way.

So it seemed a matter of self-preservation for her to learn as much as she could about him in an attempt to control the damage he could do. And, if she was lucky, to find some information that might help her counter any future attempts of his to blackmail her.

She told Malin as much, and the other woman shook her head at once.

"It isn't worth it. _He_ isn't worth it. I know he's good, I'll give him that, but you've _got_ to reconsider."

Brianna leaned back, propping herself onto her arms.

"See, the problem is," she said thoughtfully, "right now, after everything I've been through lately, I _do_ think he's worth the risk. And as long as you haven't walked in my shoes, or you tell me something about Bishop that'll make me reconsider, I don't think we're going to agree on this."

Malin looked as though she was feeling mildly ill.

"You're wrong," she insisted. But… fine. At least you're honest. What do you want to know, then?"

"I just want to hear about whatever history you have with him." Wiggling her toes again, Brianna realized that they were slowly waking up. She leaned forward and began the task of unlacing her boots.

"Well, I traveled with him, for a time. We did some business together, bringing goods across the border for different employers, and I should have walked away long before I did."

_Smuggling._ This much, Brianna had known about the ranger.

"You said he was obsessed," Brianna recalled the statement that had stuck in her memory.

"Yeah. With Luskans."

Her fingers froze in the middle of their task. She straightened, not sure what to make of these words.

"With _Luskans_?"

"You never noticed? He hates them, viciously. In fact, now that I think about it, that might be the only genuine emotion I've ever seen from him."

"Well to be fair," Brianna pointed out, "I haven't met too many people who actually _like_ Luskan." She took another sip of mulled wine.

"Have you met many who enjoy torturing them to death?" Malin asked calmly.

The wine went down the wrong way. Brianna gulped for air and coughed, doubling over, a few droplets of wine spilling onto her padded shirt. She felt lightheaded when she was finally able to breathe.

"Okay," she wheezed, pressing her hand to her chest as she cleared her throat. "I have to admit, that wasn't exactly what I expected."

"Neither did I, at the beginning. The first time it happened, I thought I'd gotten trapped in some sort of waking nightmare. He's twisted. And he likes doing it, he likes hearing them scream and beg, he…" Malin swallowed, hard, and didn't finish the sentence.

Brianna stared.

She had no trouble picturing the ranger torturing another, and it didn't surprise her that he was capable of it, but knowing it had happened was a different thing entirely. It was strangely hard to swallow.

"Did he have a reason?" she wanted to know. "Was he trying to get something out of them?"

Malin made a sound of derision and turned her head away, staring into the fire.

"Yes," she said. "Blood. He called it 'having fun'."

Brianna's stomach felt heavy. _Too much death._ Despite the sick sensation, she forced herself to stay focused.

"Do you know why he hates Luskans so much?"

Malin shook her head. "I asked him why, more than once, and all he ever said was that they deserved it. Granted, even I will admit that Luskan isn't my favorite place to be, but the people he killed… they weren't the bad ones. Some of them were boys, barely even grown, put on patrols, and then he killed them. Tortured them, and they screamed and screamed and they'd beg him to stop, and _I'_d beg him to stop, and then he killed them, when he got bored with hurting them. I had nightmares. Eventually, I left. If you want to know why I stayed with him at all, I've asked myself the same thing many times."

Brianna was pretty sure there was no right thing to say at this point. For a while they both sat, silently, their brooding interrupted only by Falgor finally bringing Malin her whiskey. The woman drained half the glass before drawing breath.

What Malin had just told her, Brianna reflected, didn't come as a huge surprise, but it was still painful to internalize. She thought the reason for this was likely the fact that she'd started to trust the ranger, despite everything. Bishop wasn't pleasant, and he wasn't safe to be around, but he had pulled through for her several times, done what was needed, rid her of the dead babe inside her womb, slaughtered a githyanki sword stalker and broken the neck of a gnome girl when Brianna had been too weak to do it.

"Damn it," she said out loud.

Malin just gave her a weak, regretful smile.

Another question occurred to Brianna, and she forced herself to ask it.

"Do you know where he got most of his scars?"

"The burn scars, you mean?" Malin shook her head. "He had them when I first met him. I've wondered the same thing, but he's not exactly chatty about his past. If you've ever seen him nude though, you'll know they cover most of his body. Must have been hell, whatever it was. Maybe a Luskan did that to him."

"Would explain some things," Brianna noted, sipping her wine.

Malin nodded.

"Look, if you decide to keep dealing with him… be careful. Please. And if you ever sleep with him…"

Brianna inhaled deeply, lowering her mug instead of taking another sip.

"You really enjoy trying to make me choke on my drink, don't you?"

Malin drained her whiskey.

"You seem a decent enough woman, Brianna," she said. "I don't want you going and making my mistakes, so I'm trying to warn you. He's a hurtful, disgusting, manipulative bastard."

"Duly noted," Brianna assured the other woman, and downed her own drink. "Still, this is the second time in a day I've felt the urge to scrub my brain out with soap."

"All the better," Malin said.

They both turned at the sound of the front door opening. As soon as Brianna spotted the head of short, straw-colored hair, she glanced at Malin, and the other woman gave her a steely nod. Their conversation was pretty much done, anyway. Brianna had gotten the information she had asked for.

"I'll tell her about her partner," The other woman sighed. "As promised. You be careful."

Forcing a smile, Brianna collected her cloak and armor and made her way up the stairs, nearly stumbling over her half-laced boots, her head still spinning with what she'd just learned.

* * *

She was sitting in her bunk as night fell, leaning against the wall with her bedsheets all wrapped around her, just thinking and reflecting and enjoying being clean and reasonably warm. Faint music was drifting up the stairs, as Falgor had apparently gotten another bard to entertain his guests, with Grobnar out of commission.

Hearing footsteps, she raised her head just in time to see the tiefling sidling into the room. Neeshka was yawning heartily, looking almost as tired as Brianna felt, after everything she had been through lately.

"How are things downstairs?" Brianna wanted to know.

Neeshka shrugged and sank onto one of the beds on the opposite side of the narrow room. "Nothing special, really. Khelgar's back."

"I know." Brianna nodded. "He stopped by and gave me a lecture on going down strange wells and not waiting for him to help kill werewolves."

Neeshka giggled. "Knowing him, he was probably just disappointed he missed a good fight."

Brianna grinned, remembering the face the dwarf had made when she had shared a few details of their adventures in the Duskwood. Khelgar had appeared to be positively hurt that they'd managed without him.

"And Shandra's gone to look after Marcus a bit," Neeshka informed her. "Falgor put him in a spare room, he's just been sitting in there ever since, staring at the wall."

"That's nice of her," Brianna said absent-mindedly, trying to fluff her pillow, but not doing a very good job of it.

The tiefling nodded.

"She's not half bad, you know," Neeshka remarked.

Brianna thought that from the tiefling, this was quite the compliment.

"What'd you and Malin talk about, then?" Neeshka, unfortunately, hadn't forgotten about the conversation she had been excluded from.

Brianna sighed as she revisited the topic that had been causing her a dull ache in the pit of her stomach.

"Bishop likes to torture," she informed the tiefling.

Neeshka merely raised an eyebrow. "How's that news, exactly?"

"Luskans," Brianna amended.

"The people who are trying to get you sentences to death? Gee, suddenly I almost like him."

Brianna smiled despite herself. The tiefling never failed to help her out by making light of things she couldn't quite deal with.

"I don't know why it bothers me so much," she confessed, settling into a more horizontal position and closing her eyes. Her body felt stone tired. "It didn't even come as a surprise, exactly. I mean, I've always known he's a bastard."

"It's kinda hard to miss," Neeshka agreed dryly.

"I wish I knew why he does it," she confessed.

"Being a bastard or torturing Luskans?"

"Both."

She heard the rustling of sheets as the tiefling presumably got settled in her own bed.

"Stop worrying about it," the tiefling advised. "As long as he doesn't torture anyone we know, anyway. We've got bigger fish to fry, and you need your sleep.."

Brianna settled back and tried to get comfortable. Neeshka was right. If she wasted her energy worrying about anything, it should be the trial. Still, she felt restless, and her body reacted to the evening chill as though sure it would never be properly warm again and eventually she cursed and tossed herself around when she realized that she probably wouldn't be able to get to sleep any time soon, despite her tiredness.

"What is it?" Neeshka wanted to know.

"Nothing," Brianna mumbled. "I'm cold."

After a moment of silence, Brianna heard the rustling of sheets. There was the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor, and then her blanket was lifted and a weight settled on her mattress.

"Move over," Neeshka said simply, and like they had done so many times in their tent at Old Owl Well, the two girls nestled close and shared each other's warmth. Neeshka's arm gently came to rest across Brianna's as she settled in to sleep.

Brianna suddenly wanted to cry as the feelings of thankfulness for the tiefling's soothing presence overwhelmed her.

She didn't often feel like crying out of thankfulness, but she had just been through a couple of extremely odd, stressful days, after all.

Calming bit by bit, she let herself relax against the other body in her bed spending her warmth, making her feel safe and comfortable.

"At least this time it isn't Bishop," she muttered, half-asleep.

There was silence. Then –

"_What_?" croaked Neeshka.


	60. Imminent

**Imminent**

After getting a good night's sleep, Brianna woke feeling marginally better than she had the day before. No longer was her mind restless and felt the need to race in circles. She was actually able to think.

The night before, Sand had declare the coming day one of rest and preparation before they braved the journey back to Neverwinter. She had thought this an excellent idea. Now, considering how sore her legs felt when she climbed out of bed, and how much her injured shoulder ached as she dressed, it had turned into a necessity.

She made her way slowly down the stairs, planning to join the rest of her companions for breakfast. Sand, however, sitting in a corner by himself with an untouched plate of food and a stack of parchment before him, waved her close with some urgency. He wore his long, dark hair tied in a utilitarian ponytail, and his robe was uncharacteristically wrinkled. It looked like he had slept in it.

"Sit," he instructed her, and she did.

"Trial stuff?" she asked, her heart sinking when she had managed to decipher a few words of his elegantly obscure handwriting reading upside-down. "Can this wait until I've eaten?"

The wizard simply pushed his plate towards her and continued to shuffle pieces of parchment.

"We have not got a lot of time left before the trial," he elaborated when Brianna gave him a look. "I suggest we use what time we do have wisely. The sooner you familiarize yourself with the evidence…"

"I'm plenty familiar with the evidence," she insisted. "Damn it Sand, I was _there_ when we found it all!"

"Tell me what really happened, then, at the heart of this matter" he ordered her promptly.

She rolled her eyes at him, blindly grasped for something edible, took a bite, and tasted cold meat.

"Now?" she squeezed out while chewing.

The wizard raised one hand to near his chin, flicked it in a peculiar sort of way, and suddenly the subdued conversations of the people sitting at the other tables ceased, as though cut off.

"A simple silencing spell," Sand explained, leaning forward and regarding her as though expecting a riveting tale. "We cannot have these details getting out just yet, after all. Yes, dear girl, now."

She swallowed, and unloaded her thoughts and theories on the matter as quickly as she could.

"The whole thing is a Luskan conspiracy, involving Ambassador Claven, a man named Lorne, who is a member of the Circle of Blades, and quite possibly someone calling themselves the Master of the Fifth Tower, which is likely a reference to the Hosttower of the Arcane in Luskan and its four towers. That Fifth Master has been the source of my trouble with Luskan in the past, I already know he wants me out of the way, and it's reasonable to expect he is behind this latest attempt as well, especially because as far as I know, I haven't crossed Luskan in any other way. "

"Speculate," Sand invited her, grasping his quill. "What could be the meaning of that title?"

At least, she thought, her mind no longer felt like it had been smothered in cotton wraps. She could actually string her thoughts together.

"Possibly someone making a grab for power," she dutifully spun her theory. "The title implies something like a secret sub-group within the Hosttower, which isn't exactly known for being united in the first place. A lot of powerful mages study there, and not everyone is bound to be happy about their advancement and opportunities, or lack thereof."

"A disgruntled student?" Sand asked, a sly look on his face.

She shook her head. "No. This is going on under the combined noses of the Hosttower mages. Using the title 'Master of the Fifth Tower' is a pretty impudent thing to do, and I imagine if the Hosttower had the means to find this person, and to deal with them, they already would have done so. That means, our mysterious Fifth Master _does_ have considerable power, and the means to stay quite undetected."

"Very good," Sand complimented her. "Of course, this also means we can be quite sure that the Fifth Master prefers to operate through pawns and subordinates, as not to expose himself. His secrecy is one of his greatest assets."

He dipped his quill in ink and scribbled a note.

"Can we use this in the trial?" Brianna wanted to know. "Build up this mysterious persona and the fact that he wants to harm me?"

Sand shook his head, still writing. "No, for two reasons. First, it would seem like we are making up stories to take the blame from you. The Master of the Fifth Tower is not a publicly recognized villain. We will have trouble convincing people of his existence, especially when there is a convenient Butcher of Ember to rage against. The crowd _will_ demand a villain to blame for the massacre, and we need to give them a substantial one, else _you_ will remain their villain."

"Who is our villain, then?" Brianna wanted to know.

"Luskans," Sand said simply. "Everyone in Neverwinter has had bad dealings with them, knows someone who was killed by Luskans or by a Luskan plot. If we stoke this hatred…"

"Still, that doesn't seem effective," Brianna argued. "I've got a face, and a name, and Luskans are an anonymous bunch, north of the border. I'll still be much more convenient to blame."

"Except that during the trial, the whole of Luskan will be represented by the ambassador herself." Sand was now wearing his patented facial expression of complete smugness.

Brianna stared. "You're planning on vilifying Torio Claven?"

"Of course," Sand replied, as though he thought this should have been obvious all along.

It would be an interesting day at court for Neverwinter, Brianna mused, the day she would stand there and in turn accuse the ambassador of the crime that the ambassador was accusing _her_ of committing. Of course, from what she knew of Ambassador Claven, the woman was quite an able public speaker, and a talented manipulator. It wouldn't be easy for her to pull this off.

"We're quite sure that Torio Claven does, in some capacity, work for our Fifth Master, correct?" she asked. "The ambassador doesn't actually think I slaughtered Ember."

"Correct," Sand confirmed. "She'll expect us to unravel at least past of the mystery, and will probably have some strategy ready to discredit you despite whatever evidence we might bring into the courtroom."

"Great," Brianna muttered.

"I never implied the trial would be easy, now did I?" Sand asked somewhat testily.

Her stomach clenched. She pulled the plate of food directly in front of her and began the task of eating in earnest, trying to drown out the nervousness.

Sand scrutinized her for a moment longer before raising his hand again. As though cotton had been pulled from both her ears, Brianna could once more hear people laughing and chatting, and the clatter of spoons on porridge-filled bowls.

"I implore you to take this more seriously," the wizard urged her.

She squinted at him, feeling rather irritated.

"I am taking this seriously, Sand. So seriously that I feel like I'm about to throw up, in fact."

"You are terrified," he stated he obvious.

"Yes." She took a bite of cheese and tried to ignore the pounding of her heart. "Wouldn't you be?"

"Dear girl, I became a lawyer for my extraordinary talent of logical thinking as much as for my ability to remain calm and collected under pressure."

She took the plate in both hands and stood, suddenly feeling like she couldn't stand to talk to him for a moment longer. The anxiety was getting to be overwhelming.

"You're not helping," she told him bluntly, and found another place to sit.

* * *

She spent the rest of the morning sitting in a corner of the common room, cleaning and repairing her equipment as well as she could. She scrubbed her armor, tried her best to remove the werewolf blood from both her swords and her silver shard, and spent a long time washing her underclothes to remove all of her own blood that they had become soaked with. Halfway through her task, Neeshka joined her, silently cleaning her own equipment.

The common room soon stank of blood. Falgor didn't complain, though around noontime the smell of garlic wafted from the kitchen strong enough to counter even the stench of Brianna's last battle.

"Something's still bothering you," Neeshka finally broke the silence. The tiefling had spread out her collection of lockpicks before her, checking each one thoroughly for wear and tear. "Out with it."

Brianna shook her head. There was nothing to talk about, really. The trial was her most obvious reason for brooding, and there were about a dozen others flitting around in the back of her mind, all little things she couldn't help but think about, worry about. They were giving her a headache, but discussing them over and over wouldn't do anything to change that.

"I'm tired," she muttered instead. "Of all this. I want the trial to be over with. I want my life to be simple again."

"The trial's going to come and go and you'll be fine," Neeshka said practically. "Or if they sentence you, I'll storm the place and break you out myself using Khelgar for a battering ram. C'mon Bree, you know better than to expect the worst."

Brianna fumbled with the delicate needle she was holding. She'd never been particularly gifted at sewing, but unless she wanted to walk around with her clothes in tatters, she would have to master the task. Especially if swords or werewolf claws kept slicing right through her armor.

"The worst seems to keep happening, whether I bother expecting it or not," she observed pessimistically, and begun stitching.

Neeshka didn't seem to know how to reply to that.

Several excited shrieks sounded through the closed window in close succession. Looking up, Brianna threw the tiefling a questioning look, and Neeshka, who had the better vantage point, reached out and wiped down the fogged-over window pane with the palm of her hand in order to see what was going on.

"Snowball fight," she reported. "A couple of the village kids. Khelgar's in a snow drift. Shandra's out there, and… uh-oh, she's taken along Marcus. He's just standing there, looking confused."

"Well that seems a recipe for disaster," Brianna observed, and held up her garment. Critically, she narrowed her eyes and stared at the freshly mended tear.

Neeshka stared as well.

"I've seen worse," the tiefling eventually decided, and swept her lockpicks back into her bag. "Granted, I've seen far better too, but it's just an undershirt, not like anyone's going to notice you can't do a cross-stitch to save your life."

"Thanks Neesh," Brianna grumbled, and folded up the shirt.

"You're welcome. Hey, want to go throw snowballs at Khelgar?"

Tempting as that sounded, Brianna shook her head. She was far too tired and sore to subject herself to a snowball fight, and she had no desire to get back out into the cold.

Neeshka, however, didn't accept no for an answer.

"C'mon," she ordered, grasping Brianna by the arm and pulling her off her chair while shoving her cloak at her. "It'll be fun! Three points if you get snow stuck in his beard!"

Outside, chaos was reigning. Three local boys had entrenched themselves on the opposite side of the road, building a shield wall of snow between a used goods store and the herbalist's. Shandra, along with two young girls and a boy that looked to be someone's little brother, was using the stairs to the inn for cover. The blond woman was giving commands like a field sergeant, building and throwing snowballs at lightning speed.

Every once in a while, a stray snowball found its way in Khelgar's direction. The dwarf was standing atop a densely packed mountain of snow that had probably been amassed when the locals had cleared the main road leading towards the harbor. The dwarf was shouting good-natured insults towards both parties.

At the foot of the snow mountain stood Marcus, just as wide-eyed and confused-looking as Neeshka had described, wearing a winter coat far too large for him. Miraculously, the boy appeared not to have been hit by a snowball thus far.

"He cheats!" Shandra shouted towards them from the bottom of the stairs. "He just knows whenever…"

A cold missile was sent Marcus' way. Without even appearing to see it, the boy ducked. The snowball flew far over his head and landed somewhere below Khelgar's firmly planted feet.

"Are you going to join the girls' team?" one of the little locals shouted up at them.

"Course," Neeshka chirped, and jumped down to start packing snowballs. "Come on, Bree!"

Brianna stayed out of it. She had always preferred to observe, and she felt too tired and sore to get caught up in an epic battle of snow. There was a convenient bench against the wall of the inn, away from the lines of battle, and she walked over to it and sat, and watched.

Shandra had quite the talent for giving orders. Brianna wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen the two girls and Neeshka duck whenever they were told to, fire when the proper command was called, and hurry to produce more snowballs whenever Shandra rallied them. Neeshka was laughing all the while, her uncanny accuracy with thrown weapons serving her well as she dished out facefuls of snow to each of their opponents, including Khelgar.

Marcus simply kept on looking bewildered, and ducking or simply sidestepping before any missiles had the chance to hit him. Brianna doubted that the young boy had ever really been included in games like these before. He seemed comfortable where he was, however, and appeared to be having some semblance of fun.

She was glad to see it. Things would be stressful enough for him once he traveled back to Neverwinter with them and was turned over to City Watch custody before the trial. Sand had determined that Marcus was a useful enough witness, and as the boy had agreed to testify, they were now trying their best to take proper care of him. According to Neeshka, Shandra had become something of a mother hen with regards to Marcus, making sure the little stray ate properly, getting him to bathe, and procuring warm, clean clothes for him to wear. It made Brianna wonder whether the woman was wishing for children of her own at all. She, herself, wouldn't have been able to do as good a job with the boy, nor had the desire to try.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts and in watching the battle that she didn't even notice the wolf approaching until the low growl reached her ears. She jumped with surprise, nonsensically pulling her legs up onto the bench and wrapping her arms around them, then feeling rather silly.

"And what exactly are you doing here, you flea-bitten bundle of fur?" she asked the wolf, Karnwyr. She kept her tone polite and conversational to try and hide the fright he had given her.

The wolf was not impressed. It stalked closer, and she could see the tense muscles beneath the grey fur, the yellow eyes scrutinizing her unerringly. Considering the fact that Karnwyr had never before paid her any special attention, and that she had always assumed that the wolf was used well enough to humans to simply disregard them, his current demeanor was rather unsettling.

"What are you playing at?" she asked the wolf, keeping her voice firm, narrowing her eyes at him in turn. It wouldn't do to show fear. That much she had learned from Daeghun when she had been little, on encountering whatever predators the swamp had to offer back in West Harbor.

"Looks like he's taken a bit of a disliking to you."

She turned carefully, not wanting to take her eyes off the wolf entirely, but still managing to give the ranger a look. Bishop was leaning against the wall several feet from her, calmly watching the proceedings.

"That wouldn't have anything to do with you telling him to do so, by chance?" Her tone sounded caustic to her own ears. She hadn't interacted with Bishop since before talking to Malin, and suddenly found herself on uneven footing.

"He doesn't take orders, swamp girl, I've told you that before. His actions are his own." The ranger glared. She had little desire to meet his eyes and looked away, only to find a near-identical set of eyes glaring at her on her other side, this one belonging to the wolf. Suddenly, she felt cornered.

"What the fuck do you want?" she went on the offensive.

"I just wanted to clear up a little something that you seem to have some misconceptions about."

He stepped closer, taking slow, deliberate steps, his leg nearly touching the bench when he finally halted.

"I'm not your minion to order around as you please. I'm also not your obedient soldier who's willing to die for you, or your servant whose job it is to shut up and take whatever's thrown at him."

His tone was as vitriolic as she'd ever heard it. Beyond the obvious hostility, she found herself wondering what it was that had caused him to lash out at her like this. She couldn't recall offending him in any way worse than the usual, lately.

"Are you saying the gold's not good enough now?" It was her best guess, and she wanted to give the ranger a good slap upside the head for picking this moment to try and renegotiate his fee. She had no energy nor patience to deal with it now.

"That's part of it," he admitted. "But don't bother making a fresh offer. Once we get back to the city, our business is over. I'm sick of putting up with that menagerie of yours. There's easier ways for me to earn my gold."

Inwardly, two very different reactions to his words were battling each other.

For one, she was bothered by his sudden decision. He hadn't given her a proper warning, no signs that might have indicated how much he disliked traveling with her and helping her out. She'd come to depend on him, and she didn't like being out one good fighter this suddenly.

Then again, keeping the conversation with Malin in mind, maybe it was indeed for the best.

"Suit yourself," was the answer she said out loud, not giving him any indication of the fact that he'd upset her. Ignoring both the ranger and the wolf, she turned back to watch the snowball fight.

"I'll be watching the trial."

She tensed when he spoke again, knowing better than to assume his intentions were anywhere near benign.

"You have fun doing that." Her voice was devoid of emotion. Her eyes followed the slim form of Neeshka, dodging a rain of snowballs as she ran, laughing, to climb Khelgar's solitary mountain in an obvious attempt to topple the dwarf.

"Your pretty neck's going to hang, swamp girl." He inhaled deeply. "Almost a pity."

"If you say so." She was still trying to shut him out, trying to dismiss his words as empty talk, but they were hitting her too close to home. Her composure was slipping. Biting her lip, hard, and clenching the edge of the bench with her hands, she kept staring.

"I've seen a few mass hangings. They're never pretty. Sometimes people die cleanly, sometimes they swing in the wind, struggling and suffocating, and people make bets on how long they'll last. And everyone who dies by the noose will shit and piss themselves as they hang there, and it's all quite the spectacle."

He'd won. Brianna didn't even bother trying to deny it as she stood and walked away, still keeping her face completely blank, until she reached a secluded spot behind the Alliance Arms Inn and emptied her stomach contents into a snow drift. Then she sank into the snow and sat there, her skin slick with cold sweat, her body shaking, her mind feeling utterly rattled and utterly terrified.

Gods, she wanted to run. She wanted so badly to leave this all behind, to hide from the trial somewhere in the Anauroch desert, or the jungles of Chult, or the island of Lantan, or the nation of Thay. Any faraway place she'd ever read about would do, or maybe one she hadn't. When even her own lawyer didn't think she would be able to mount a strong enough defense, and she had an entire city wanting her dead…

She threw up again, spitting out the bitter taste in her mouth as best she could and rubbing a handful of clean snow across her lips and cheeks as she tried to get her erratic breathing back under control.

Luskan had her nearly broken.

Bishop was making a pretty good attempt at finishing the job.


	61. Burnt Fingertips

**Burnt Fingertips**

The moment she stepped through the city gates, Brianna realized that her days of relative anonymity were over.

She'd taken some involuntary steps in that direction already, most notably when she had killed Moire and helped the Watch return some semblance of order to the docks. But that had been a positive sort of attention, the occasional flash of recognition in people's eyes being followed by anything from grudging respect to outright admiration. Not many people had prospered under Moire's reign, and those who had didn't generally conduct their business with a watchwoman.

Now, those who spotted her turned to whispering to their neighbors, and the looks she received weren't anywhere close to being friendly. During the few days she'd been traveling up north, tales of the Butcher of Ember had been passed on through all of Neverwinter.

"You know, people used to stare at me like that for my horns and tail, but never this many at once." Neeshka sounded awed. The tiefling's head kept turning as they navigated the crowded streets, as though she couldn't quite believe that Brianna was the one towards whom all the stares were directed.

"Well I cannot pretend that this is unexpected, but it _is_ inconvenient," Sand muttered. Judging by his expression, the wizard was apparently already trying to think of how to counter the rumors. "Torio has been thorough."

Brianna ground her teeth with frustration. "She spread those tales in Port Llast, and when we traveled there, she turned around and did the same to Neverwinter!" She was so upset and preoccupied that she barely even noticed her right foot sinking ankle-deep into a puddle.

The wizard's pronounced frown only deepened.

"She has always been clever, in all her arrogance," he pointed out. "I daresay there is little that we could have done to avoid being caught in this particular trap. Torio does know to chose her words as to plant these rumors very carefully, and in a way that will not implicate her of any wrongdoing."

Brianna felt an absurd urge to hide her face beneath a cowl in order to avoid notice. Everyone they encountered on their way seemed to know her, and seemed eager to spread that knowledge to those around them, as well. Brianna found herself averting her eyes and hurrying past more and more often, finally just plain avoiding looking at anyone apart from her own companions. The goodbye from Marcus and Sand was hasty as the two of them made for the City Watch, with everyone else apparently having as little patience left for the crowds as Brianna herself.

At this rate, she thought as they raced along the streets of the docks district, she might finally have found something that might make her look forward to the damned trial. She was doubly glad once they reached the Sunken Flagon's doors, and she was able to duck away from what felt like everyone in Neverwinter pointing fingers at her.

As any other time when she had returned from a prolonged absence, Brianna expected Duncan to come hurrying from the kitchen just moments after the doors fell shut behind her, ready to give her the obligatory welcome-back hug. This time, however, the room remained empty as she walked forward and towards the bar. The only exception to this was made by her own group and by the bartender, Sal, who was wiping down dishes while looking far more morose than Brianna was used to.

"Sal," she said, and his head snapped up.

"Oh," she heard him grumbler, once he had apparently recognized her. "It's you."

"Indeed," Brianna confirmed, unshouldering her pack and leaning it against the wall, then tilting her head when she caught the implication of his statement. "You were expecting someone else?"

Sal made a non-committal grunting noise. Then he turned, and with practiced motions grasped two tankards and filled them from the tap.

"Thought it was another watchman come to lecture," he said while the ale flowed. "Or worse, come to tell me of more trouble. Been too much of it the past days."

"There has? What sorts of trouble?" Brianna reached for the tankard he sat in front of her, but Bishop was faster. She didn't bother arguing when he drank deeply. He wasn't worth the effort. Instead, she asked the next question that sprung to mind. "And where's Duncan?"

Sal pushed the second tankard Khelgar's way. In response to her question, he sighed deeply. "Well, Duncan's at the temple of Tyr, bringing food to Casavir and little Miss Qara."

There was a moment of silence, during which Brianna processed, Bishop and Khelgar drank, Shandra finally set down her pack and straightened her hair, and Neeshka took a spot on a creaking bar stool.

"Er, why are Casavir and Qara at the temple of Tyr?" Brianna finally asked the obvious question, when Sal made no attempt to volunteer the information.

"Well," Sal said again, turning to fill yet another tankard. "Qara's hiding out so she won't be killed, and Casavir's with her to keep her from killing anyone else, and those students from the Academy are outside the temple waiting to kill her as soon as she sets foot outside, and they've all been there for two days now, so Duncan figured they might be getting hungry."

"Whoa," Neeshka said into the enduing silence.

Khelgar sat his tankard down and frowned. Bishop kept drinking without ever drawing breath.

"The Watch says they don't like to interfere in Academy business, see." Sal shrugged and collected the empty tankard the ranger handed him. "Not unless someone's killed, they say."

"_That_ sounds like the Watch I know," Neeshka said almost dreamily.

Brianna crossed her arms before her chest.

"Why can't I leave this place for five minutes without someone getting into trouble?"

"Oh, you're one to talk," Shandra muttered. "When _aren't_ you in trouble?"

"I'll have you know that my life used to be perfectly peaceful," Brianna replied without any conviction whatsoever, running her hands through her hair as she thought.

"What, when you were five?"

Brianna ignored the quip, still considering this unexpected development and finally coming to a decision. "I guess we'd best be getting to the temple then, huh?"

"Why?" Neeshka asked, sounding completely baffled. "I was looking forward to bed."

"True,"Brianna admitted, and thoughtfully rubbed her own tired eyes. She was not about to admit that she felt a tinge of concern, not necessarily for Qara, but for Casavir, who had been left with the tough job of putting up with the sorceress while everyone else journeyed to Port Llast. "But at the very least, we can point and laugh at Qara."

"Ooh, true. Let's go!" The tiefling jumped to her feet.

Shandra made a face, but nodded her consent. Khelgar climbed off his bar stool. Merely Bishop remained seated, demonstratively leaning back against the bar and signaling Sal for another ale as the rest of the group trotted out the doors once more, wearily shuffling their feet.

* * *

The temple of Tyr in the merchant district was the most bloody austere place Brianna had ever seen. She found herself involuntarily drawing her arms about herself as she ascended the granite steps, feeling as though the gilded scales hanging above the doors might just crash down upon her head if the Maimed God found her unworthy. She was pretty sure she would never understand what drew Casavir to worship such a terribly dreary deity.

Pushing open the heavy doors, they passed into the temple proper. Here as well, the decorations were kept simple and serious in nature. Thick pillars carried a high, arched ceiling. The walls were lined with lit torches, held in cast iron brackets, and their light threw fast-moving shadows onto the statue towering over the altar at the far end of the temple.

At the foot of the altar, a lone figure knelt, apparently in prayer. Brianna tried her best to be patient and wait politely until whoever was asking Tyr's favor had finished doing so, but eventually, when the figure did not move, she cleared her throat and walked forward energetically. Her steps echoed on the stone floor.

"Figured you would show up here," Qara said directly to her left. Brianna pivoted and stared at the girl who had just appeared in a door frame hidden between pillars off to the side, looking tired in her colorful robe. The sorceress' hair was greasy, and there were deep circles beneath her eyes, but her fingers were clenched around a thin, wooden wand so tightly that the skin covering her knuckles seemed entirely white.

"You look like shit," Brianna told the girl bluntly. It wasn't exactly tactful, but she was eager to have this matter dealt with, and ready to get back to her room in the Flagon as soon as it was. Duncan's presence back at the inn would also be a necessity, so her uncle would be able to draw her a bath and make her some hot milk with honey.

Qara sneered at her. The tip of the wand wobbled a little.

"You and your disgusting habit of sticking your nose into everyone's business. Why don't you go mind your own, for once?"

The sorceress didn't just look tired, Brianna realized after several more seconds of studying the girl's face, but also slightly more deranged than usual. She wasn't sure what the cause was, but it was in moments like this that she realized Qara would have absolutely no qualms about setting her on fire if the girl though she could get away with it.

"That's really quite rude, you know." Shandra, apparently undaunted by the wand tip pointing vaguely her way, stated the obvious while Brianna was still searching for a reply. "We all just got back from Port Llast, we've been on our feet all day, we're cold, we're hungry, we're tired, and yet we came here to make sure you were okay instead of having supper and falling into our beds and catching some sleep. So, show a little gratitude!"

"Yeah," Brianna agreed rather lamely.

The robed figure by the altar appeared to have finished praying at this point, and while Qara rung for a reply, the elderly priest of Tyr approached the group.

"Please put your wand away, girl," he said in a hoarse voice, and it sounded like he uttered this very sentence more than once this day.

"No," Qara said, stubborn as ever, and kept pointing her arcane weapon. "Go to the hells."

The priest, to his credit, did not so much as flinch.

"Qara," a familiar voice admonished from beyond the doorway, and the next moment Duncan had hurried clear past the sorceress and put both his arms around Brianna. She hugged him back out of reflex more than anything.

"Mind telling us what is going on?" she asked close to his ear. The face he pulled when she looked at him again gave her all the answer she needed.

"Don't particularly want to, no," he replied. "But I suppose I'd better. It's a bit of a longer story though, and you look dead on your feet, so why don't we find a place to sit around here?"

Even in the many side rooms of the temple, there was not a comfortable cushion to be found. Tyrrans, Brianna reflected, should have gotten along fabulously with the followers of the god of martyrdom, Illmater, for all the unnecessary discomfort they inflicted upon themselves in following their god. She was not sure why uncushioned stone benches with sharp edges were required to worship Tyr, but maybe one day, she'd be bored enough to ask Casavir about it.

"Where _is_ Casavir?" she asked Duncan once it occurred to her that the paladin was conspicuously missing. Her uncle, trying to get settled on the bench across from her, frowned.

"He went to ask the Watch for assistance once again, though they already said they would not interfere. Since I had stopped by to bring them a bit of food, he asked me to help out the priests in keeping an eye on Qara while he went."

Brianna massaged her own temples with circular motions, trying to keep the frustration from overwhelming her. She had enough on her mind, even without the sorceress acting up as soon as she got back into Neverwinter. And she was tired. If she wasn't careful, the situation would overwhelm her eventually, and she would find herself curled into a ball on the floor, weeping, or something equally undignified.

"Start at the beginning," she requested, and closed her eyes to focus on listening as her uncle recounted the incident.

"Well, Qara started being harassed by a couple of students from the Academy just before you left, if you recall. It kept happening while you were gone, too. I didn't know why, and she wouldn't say, but she came running back to the Flagon a few days in a row, looking quite out of it. Then, two days ago, she asked Casavir to accompany her to the market, and of course he did."

"Yeah, course he did," Neeshka muttered, rolling her eyes. Khelgar, who was listening with a pronounced frown on his face, shushed the tiefling.

"Then, from what I understand, they ran into a whole large group of Academy students, all out to hurt Qara, and the temple of Tyr was the safest place he could think to bring her so he did. Ever since, there's students outside waiting for them to come out, and Qara trying to climb out a window and start a firestorm out in the square to be rid of them."

"Why are all these students coming after her?" Shandra demanded to know. "It seems… excessive. Have they been holding a grudge for this long?"

"That's what I thought, too," Duncan nodded. "Until I found out that Qara's not entirely innocent here. Went looking for trouble in the market some days back, set the robes of three Academy students on fire after they had an argument, and the hair of one poor lass. Hetha, I think her name was, and her father's a high ranking academy instructor. That, of course, Casavir doesn't know."

"Great," Brianna muttered. "She just doesn't learn, does she?"

"And the Watch really won't interfere?" Shandra asked, sounding baffled.

Duncan shook his head. "They don't like to meddle with Academy business unless absolutely necessary. They prefer that the instructors discipline their students themselves, keep the peace, so that the Watch doesn't have to call the Many-Starred Cloaks for assistance every time there is a mages' conflict."

"Why aren't the instructors disciplining all involved, then?" Neeshka didn't appear to see the problem, and neither did Brianna. "Why don't they come down here, send their students home and give Qara an arcane spanking, or something?"

"That'd be her father's fault." Duncan glanced towards the door, as though expecting Qara to stand there, listening in. The doorway way as empty as it could be, however. "He's head of the Academy, did you know that? And while he won't _help_ his daughter, he's forbidden anyone else from interfering. So now we have a stalemate."

"Wait, wait, _what_?" Neeshka's tail slashed through the air, underlining her aggravated question. "Qara's father is head of the Academy? The Mages Academy? The one Qara was kicked out of?"

This was news to Brianna as well, and, it appeared, to everyone in the room except for Duncan.

"That's what she said, yes." Duncan shrugged apologetically. "Blamed him for being unfair and disappointed, and everyone else for giving her a hard time there, because she doesn't study tomes to learn spells. Though she says she left on her own, though after setting fire to the stables."

"That I'll believe in a heartbeat," Shandra commented dryly.

"She told you that?" Brianna couldn't quite believe it. "Since when does Qara open up about this sort of thing?"

"Lass, she hasn't slept in two days. Look at her. She's half crazy in the head right now."

"So things are normal with her, then," Neeshka commented.

A knock on the door made them all turn, and yet another priest of Tyr nodded at them politely.

"I've come to inform you that the paladin has returned with an ally," he said, and as one, they rose and made their way towards the door.

"Am I the only one who sees the obvious solution here?" Brianna muttered in Neeshka's direction as they walked.

"You distract her and I clobber her one?" the tiefling suggested.

"I was thinking the other way round."

However long and draining the day had been, Brianna thought it could all have been turned around if she was given the chance to smash the hilt of her sword into the sorceress' temple. At this point, it was just so bloody tempting.

Back in the main part of the temple, illuminated by the multitude of torches, stood Casavir. The paladin was not wearing his armor, but he still looked ready to defend whoever needed it, his massive warhammer firmly in his right hand, his expression severe. Brianna wasn't sure whether it was the torchlight or the stress of dealing with Qara, but to her, the paladin looked a good ten years older than he usually did, which was already older than he was. The worry-lines were deep on his face.

"Good afternoon," she greeted him, trying to sound pleasant, just because they had all been through enough this day. Casavir gave her a weak smile, and bowed.

Next to the paladin stood Marshall Cormick. If he was surprised to see Brianna, he didn't show it, but he looked pleased and beamed at her for a moment before looking back at the paladin and returning to an appropriately serious expression.

"The Watch finally going to take action?" Duncan demanded to know.

The marshal shook his head.

"I am not here in official capacity, just as a personal favor." The look on his face made it very clear that he didn't feel the paladin was the one he owed a favor to, but rather Brianna. She wasn't about to protest. Cormick _did_ owe her.

"Good to see you again," Cormick told her. "Were you successful, up in Port Llast?"

"Damn it, _I_ hadn't even gotten around to asking her that." Duncan appeared peeved at having been preempted. "Not that I don't appreciate you being here, but…"

"Great. More idiots come to try and stop me from giving those imbeciles outside what's coming to them."

Qara sashayed into the main temple like she owned it. The same priest of Tyr that they had met upon first entering was following her like a duckling waddling after its mother, patiently stopping as she did and eying her as though expecting her to begin orchestrating mischief at any moment.

_Smart man_, Brianna thought.

"Qara," Casavir started an obvious attempt to talk the girl down, but Cormick talked over him.

"I can get your fellow mages outside to stand down…"

"They are _not_ my 'fellow mages'!"

"…if you promise to go back to the Sunken Flagon without attacking them…"

"I'll burn down the whole gods-damned city first!"

"…and hopefully this conflict can be resolved before it becomes necessary for me to make any arrests…"

"You can try, if you like being on fire!"

Qara was waving her wooden weapon wildly, looking even more deranged than she had just five minutes ago, and it occurred to Brianna that Cormick was not doing much to keep the sorceress calm. She was not sure what sort of wand the sorceress was holding, but if it went off, it was entirely possible that they would all pay a fairly steep price for pushing Qara further than they should have.

"Where in the hells is Sand when we need him?" Duncan muttered close to her ear, while Cormick continued to argue. "Stuck in a snowdrift, like the old charlatan deserves?"

"He took a witness to the City Watch and probably went back to his shop after that," she replied. "Trust me, right now I wish I'd have thought to bring him along, too."

Or, perish the thought, Bishop, who wouldn't have hesitated to put a sword or arrow to Qara's throat, not caring what anyone thought of him, if he found it to be necessary to ensure his continued well-being.

Thinking this, Brianna realized that Neeshka's previous idea was gaining more and more merit in her eyes.

"Careful!" she found herself shout a warning when she spotted Qara's fingers twitching around the wand. "I swear, if you start hexing us, I'll wring your neck myself!"

Qara spun to face her, blinking hard, muttering something under her breath. It was too quiet for Brianna to figure out whether the words were those of a spell, but she was not about to take that risk.

_Since everyone else appears to be reluctant to use physical violence in a temple, seems like the job's going to fall to me again. Why has it always got to be me?_

She lunged forward and wrapped her fingers around the wand, causing Qara to scream like a banshee as she lashed into Brianna's face with her free hand. Brianna had intended to snap the wand, but the wood proved stronger than she had thought, so she was hanging on while Qara attempted to scratch her face to bits, leading her to wonder why nobody else appeared to be attempting to help her…

And then there was a ringing sound, like metal on wood, and Qara went limp and sank to the floor like a sack of flour.

Brianna stared at the suddenly rather peaceful-looking sorceress, then looked up just in time to see Shandra pass the cast-iron candle holder back to one of the priests with a polite, apologetic nod.

"Nice work," she complimented the woman, and turned to Cormick. "Please tell me you weren't just bluffing when you said you could get these students off our backs? We'll need to get her back to the Flagon without walking through a rain of spells, if possible."

Cormick nodded. Casavir, wordlessly, lifted the sorceress and laid her over one shoulder, making sure he was carrying her securely before turning to Brianna.

"This may not be the end of this particular animosity," he warned Brianna, who shrugged.

"If animosity can wait until after the trial, that's all I need. If Qara gets herself in trouble again before then, she can go to the hells and I won't do a damn thing to stop the ride."

Casavir, to his credit, didn't look nearly as disapproving as she might have expected.

* * *

She was in her room later, stretching out on her bed, fully clothed and half-contemplating going to sleep that way, when Duncan knocked.

"Lass, you've got a visitor waiting in the taproom," her uncle announced.

She'd just about had enough of the day. She hadn't even taken the bath Duncan had lovingly prepared for her, she was so bloody sick of it all, and tiredness was threatening to overwhelm her. Anything trial-related could wait until the morning, and anything non-trial-related could wait until after the trial. At this point she'd either be free, and on her way to the Anauroch desert or some equally tempting location, or she'd be dead and therefore beyond caring. As far as she was concerned, it was as good a solution as any at this point.

"Tell them to come back tomorrow," she said decisively.

"I will, lass."

She detected a bit of a strange undertone in her uncle's voice, and turned her head to look at him just before he would have closed the door.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing, really. Just don't know what this fellow might be wanting from you in the first place."

"Probably sent by Brelaina," she suggested, not even trying to suppress her yawn. "I imagine the captain's peeved I didn't stop by when I got back. Sand did it for me."

"That may be so, lass, but I doubt the good captain would sent a fellow wearing a pin from the Moonstone Mask to run her errands."

It took her a moment before her mind caught up with his words. Then, she didn't even think to spend a moment to make sure she was entirely decent before pushing past Duncan and bolting for the taproom.


	62. Final Preparations

**Final Preparations**

She had only been gone for about a tenday, but when she spotted Rilien, standing by the fireplace, it suddenly felt like a lifetime.

Entirely on purpose, she had tried to avoid thinking of him during her journey. In the process, she appeared to have forgotten just how tall he stood, and how dark his hair was. Now the emotions returned with a vengeance, causing her to stop dead and stare at him from across the room, her throat closing almost painfully. He turned to look at her as well, and she caught the small, genuine smile on his face just before it faded.

That was when she remembered the rumors that had been making their rounds through all of Neverwinter, and her heart sank.

For a moment longer, they both just stood and looked, silently. Then Rilien cleared his throat.

Well, how about that," he said, sounding just like she remembered, calm, with that hint of playfulness he never seemed to lose entirely. But there was a note to his voice she didn't like to hear, a tinge of bitterness. "I was wondering about it, you know, but you still don't look so evil to me."

She wrapped her arms around her body, feeling cold.

"Like someone who slaughters a village, you mean?"

He took a step towards her, a slight frown on his face as he appeared to study her closely. Then, he took a deep breath.

"You know, when I first heard that rumor, from little Dory, who picked it up gods-know-where, I just laughed. But a day later everyone seemed to know, and all of the Mask was talking about it as though there wasn't a doubt you'd done it, and I started thinking about how little I really know you, and that you hadn't even told me you were going somewhere before you left. And, well, a man starts to wonder."

_Ouch._ Brianna suddenly felt like she had something large and prickly stuck in her throat, scratching her raw every time she swallowed.

"Right," she said, and discovered talking hurt just as much as swallowing.

He took another step towards her, and she couldn't make up her mind as to whether she wanted him to come closer or to back away.

"Did you do it?" he asked, very simply, and just as simply, she shook her head.

"That's good enough for me, then," he said, and came even closer.

And then he'd reached out, and she all but threw herself into his arms, and _gods_, he smelled just like she remembered. She buried her face in his chest and breathed in that scent she had missed even without realizing it, allowing him to pull her tightly against him and not minding it at all. Her heart was drumming against her chest so hard that the buzzing of each beat made her feel light-headed. For a long time, she thought of nothing at all.

She was glad there was nobody in the taproom to comment on their embrace. Still, it occurred to her after some time, she was not keen on the comments she might receive if any of her companions but Neeshka saw them, and it certainly wouldn't help Rilien if the rumors about her that were being passed around Neverwinter suddenly included a mention of him.

The same appeared to have occurred to Rilien. Looking utterly reluctant, he let her go.

"D'you know a more private place where we might talk?" he asked.

"Well, my room," she proposed, taking him by the hand and leading him along. On the way, they met Duncan, whose expression suggested that he had several questions he very much wanted to ask Brianna about her unexpected visitor.

"Not a word," she warned him as she brushed past him.

She barely managed to bolt the door before she found herself kissing her companion with an urgency she hadn't know she possessed when it came to men. After surveying frozen corpses and rescuing gnomes from ice water, struggling with werewolves and being accused of brutal murder over and over again, feeling Rilien against her and under her hands was the most wonderful thing she could ever have imagined.

Her breath escaped her in a small sigh when their lips finally separated. He cradled her head gently with one hand and pulled her once more to lean against his chest.

"You look tired, love," he muttered, his hands stroking her tangled hair.

The endearment she'd always found so irritating now made her pulse quicken. She shook her head at herself when she realized it. She really had missed him more than she had wanted to admit to herself.

"It's been an exhausting few days," she replied to his statement, her voice nearly breaking. "I just… dear gods, everything's so screwed up."

She might have broken down right there and then if not for the reassuringly solid body she clung to, and the strong arms holding her up and making her feel like, just for a little while, she might be actually, truly safe.

"I can only imagine," he said, kissing the top of her head. "Did I interrupt your bath?"

Her eyes wandered towards the corner of the room where the bathtub stood, prepared by Duncan, the water still warm. Tempting as it had been, especially with Duncan doing all the work heating water, her bed had been even more tempting.

"Bathing's overrated," she muttered nonsensically.

While he laughed, he was already working to remove her dusty tunic.

"What exactly are you doing?" she asked, her head still against his chest, finding herself unwilling to abandon the comfort he was giving her.

"Trying to get you into the bath," he replied. "You need it, love."

She couldn't help but grin weakly in her tiredness. "You're saying I smell bad? Some gentleman you are."

"_No_," he said with emphasis. "I'm merely pointing out that you seem to possess what's quite possibly the tensest pair of shoulders I've ever seen, right now, and the way you carry yourself suggests you've got a whole invisible mountain loaded onto your back, and a good soak might just help ease your muscles a little."

When he put it that way, it seemed to be making a lot of sense. Brianna allowed him to ease her into the tub, closing her eyes in bliss as the warm water enveloped her.

"Good?" she heard his voice, somewhere above her, and barely found the energy to nod. She felt herself drifting pleasantly somewhere near sleep, the warmth doing much to ease the aches of the past several days, and she wondered vaguely how she could ever have thought that a bath wasn't the best idea in the world just now.

Then Rilien begun to wash her. Nobody had ever done that for her, except presumably Daeghun, when she'd been too little to do it herself. Rilien's touch was more than just utilitarian, however, designed not just to clean but to soothe. Gods, she hadn't known it was possible for soap and a washcloth to feel to good on her skin.

"You're an angel," she informed him, half-floating in bliss. "You really really are."

He chuckled and attempted to knead some of the tenseness from her arms and shoulders.

She couldn't remember ever having felt this cared for before. Generally, she wasn't one to inspire feelings of tenderness in anyone, and the hells only knew why Rilien felt her worthy of attention. His gentle touch along with the warm water did its part in coaxing her into a state of utter relaxation.

"Hm?" she asked sleepily when she realized he'd spoken.

"I asked, did you want to talk about it? The Ember business, I mean. Or would you rather just forget all about it for the night?"

For her own peace of mind, she would rather not have thought of Ember and the trial at all. She realized though, contemplating his question, that she very much wanted _him_ to know the truth of what had happened.

"I crossed Luskan," she told him therefore, accompanied by the sound of gently splashing water as his hands kneaded the muscles of her upper arms. "How, I'm not even sure myself. But they'd like me dead, so they framed me for the killing."

He was silent for a long time, his fingers digging into her shoulders once more, then wandering down the entirety of her arms all the way down to the tips of her fingers in slow, circular motions.

"That's bad," he said then, as though she didn't know it already. "That's trouble."

_Yeah, tell me about it. _

Before her mind, half-asleep as it was, could come up with a fitting reply that didn't sound dismissive, he was speaking again. "We should get you out of the water, love. You've been in long enough, your skin's flushing."

With regret, she sat up, eventually climbing out of the tub with Rilien's assistance and promptly finding herself wrapped in a soft towel smelling faintly of lye, as did everything in the Flagon which her uncle washed regularly. Then he had her on his lap, sitting on the bed, and was drying her hair by massaging it through the towel covering it. She leaned against him, listening to his steady heartbeat. After all the worries of the past several days… _several months, really_… just being taken care of for once felt unbelievably nice.

"Does it scare you?" he wanted to know. "Having to go to trial?"

"Yes." She wondered faintly why talking about it now didn't bother her nearly as much as it usually did. Perhaps her mind had given up on its fears and doubts for the evening. "I might hang."

His arms tightened around her. "In a Neverwinter court?"

"They did a damn good job with the framing." She raised her head. Her lips found the wonderfully smooth skin of his throat which seemed to have been made to be kissed, just like the whole of Rilien, bloody irresistible as he was.

"Enough talking then, hm?" he asked. His voice was low, which told her that he wasn't entirely opposed to the change of pace, either.

"If you don't mind." She sighed against him, her fingertips already trying to find a way under his tunic – why was he still wearing clothes, anyway? – her entire body craving the warmth and comfort she knew was there. "I could do with not thinking for a little while."

Cotton rustled against her skin as he divested her of both towels. The tips of her wet hair brushed against her shoulders, causing her to shudder briefly. Then his tunic had dropped to the floor as well, and she finally felt him against her, so wonderfully warm and comforting, their arms and legs entirely in a tangle. Suddenly she was dizzy with anticipation.

"As the lady wishes," he uttered against her skin.

He made her laugh with that statement, even as he lifted her more fully onto the bed and moved to cover her body with his own. Despite everything, she thought, it was good to know that she could still laugh so freely.

* * *

Brianna spent the next two weeks desperately trying to reach out and cling to time itself to stop it from passing. Time, however, seemed to enjoy being contrary and raced along instead, leaving her frantic. There were so many of Sand's book she suddenly realized she wouldn't get around to reading, so many courtroom scenarios she hadn't spent time thinking through yet, so much to consider in case the worst really did come to pass.

Gritting her teeth because it was necessary, but at the same time admitting to herself that she should have done so a long time ago, she allowed Sand to take her to set up a will. It was not a pleasant task to think about everyone moving on after she was gone, though she forced herself to do so didn't have much that required distributing, should she die, but the shards themselves required plenty of thought in that direction. If her theories were correct, whoever she gave them to would likely find themselves hunted before long. She didn't exactly want Duncan to be surprised by a maddened, power-crazy warlock with glowing tattoos and his succubus army storming the Flagon.

Eventually, she settled on bequeathing the shards to Captain Brelaina of the City Watch, along with a sealed letter in which she noted down everything she knew and suspected about the shards, even including information about the one lodged in her chest. After her death, it wouldn't much matter to her whether or not she was cut open in order to remove the artifact. After giving it a lot of thought, she had come to the conclusion that the captain was the one person with the strength and the resources to handle the shards responsibly and to deal with the inevitable consequences that arose from their possession.

Neeshka would receive most of her material possessions, her gems, clothes, armor, and the gold she had saved up. The tiefling, after having been such a good friend, deserved as much, especially since she had always shared her spoils with Brianna so freely. Her swords would go to Duncan. She had no idea what her uncle would do with them, but he deserved a little something, after sheltering her during the time she had spent in Neverwinter. Besides, her uncle had been more of a father figure in the short time she had known him than Daeghun had ever managed to be. The charmed amulet which Neeshka had gifted her, and which she had only gotten back from Bishop so recently, would go to Rilien. She had no idea whether he needed or particularly wanted such an inheritance, but she had to admit to herself that she liked the idea of him wearing something of hers and to have something to remember her by, if the worst came to pass.

She didn't sleep well, even with spending two hours or more doing drills and training with Cormick or Shandra each evening. Bishop might have pushed her harder than either of these two were capable of, but the ranger wasn't around much these days, and when he was, he generally ignored her and did not seem inclined to continue their training. True to his word for once, he seemed to have lost interest in continuing to work with her in any capacity.

More than once, she would leave the Flagon in the dead of night and make her way to the merchant quarter, pay the steep cover to enter the Moonstone Mask, and then spend the night with Rilien. Whether by luck or design, he was never engaged with other clients when she came to see him. Other nights, he came to her room at the Flagon, usually managing to be discreet. Those times, she didn't pay. When he was with her, she usually managed to forget about what was coming at least for a short while.

Qara, at least, managed to stay out of trouble for the time being. Duncan kept her working quite hard, and on her days off, the sorceress found herself accompanied by Casavir, whether she wanted to be or not. The paladin himself seemed to be brooding more often than not these days. He still didn't appear to want to talk to Brianna much, and she might have asked him about it if there hadn't been so many more important things for her to worry about.

Elanee appeared and disappeared for days at a time, as she was wont to do, not bothering anyone much. Sometimes the druidess spent an evening just sitting in a corner of the taproom, observing, or politely asking Duncan or Casavir whether there were news. Other times she reappeared with her face scratched bloody, or her skirts torn and smelling of dirt. Brianna didn't know exactly what it was the druidess did on her excursions, but she figured that if Elanee discovered anything of importance, she would let Brianna know before long. After all, Elanee generally shared information even when Brianna didn't want to know.

Finally, the day of the trial arrived, and despite everything, she felt as unprepared as though she had done nothing at all to attempt to avoid the fate which Luskan had planned for her.

It was Sand who woke her with a sharp knock on her door, and before her mind had cleared enough to call out a reply, he was already marching into the room.

"Hey," she said, groggily, but waking up rapidly once she realized that not only was she wearing a bedsheet and little else, but she also had Rilien in bed with her.

The moon elf waved away her protests.

"My dear girl, I am certainly old enough to have seen enough of _that_ before. Besides, your boy here can certainly make himself useful today of all days."

"Hm?" Rilien asked, blinking his eyes open and sitting up as well.

"Ophala," the wizard elaborated. "Neeshka had a talk with her on my behalf, and she has agreed to assist in preparations for the trial."

Brianna's mind was working slow that morning. Despite Rilien's presence, she hadn't slept well, images of an impending execution haunting her dreams. Through her tiredness and rapidly accelerating panic, she tried to figure out what in the world Ophala could possibly contribute to her being prepared for the trial, and failed.

Rilien, however, seemed to understand. She watched from the corner of her eye as he nodded once, then slipped out from beneath the sheets without displaying any sort of shame and proceeded to get dressed. She missed his warmth immediately and drew her blankets close, shivering. There had not been any snow in over a week, indicating that spring couldn't be far, but the Flagon's rooms were still bloody cold in the mornings.

"What?" she asked, glancing at them both in turn.

"Ophala's very good at prettying up women," Rilien explained, pulling his undershirt over his head and tucking his amulet beneath. "Her services are quite popular with debutantes from noble houses, actually. I assume that's what your friend here is referring to."

"He's not my friend, he's my lawyer." She gave Sand a look. "You want me to wear… _paint_ on my face?" She gesticulated wildly. "Whatever gave you the idea that this was on my list of things to do before I die?"

"I did not arrange this for _your_ benefit, precisely." Sand, to his credit, attempted to avoid looking superior for once and sat down on the bed to see eye-to-eye with Brianna. "Do you have any idea how much a first impression in that courtroom is worth? You walk in there with your hair in disarray, wearing breeches, looking half like you just stepped off a battlefield…"

She was tired, but not that tired. His words painted a concise enough picture for her.

"Right." Her throat was dry. "You're saying if I go to court looking like the Butcher of Ember, everyone will be more likely to believe I am."

"Precisely." Sand's index finger was slashing through the air. "So this afternoon, when we all go to Castle Never, you, Brianna Storm, will be a vision of daintiness, of femininity…"

"I get the point, Sand," she interrupted him. Her stomach churned, causing her to lower her head and wrap her arms around herself.

"Gods," she said weakly. She thought she might throw up.

Rilien's arms were around her in a second.

"I'll get her ready," she heard him assure Sand. Apparently, that was enough for the wizard, because Brianna heard the floorboards creak as he walked away, closing the door behind him.

She didn't seem to be able to calm her breathing. The simple thought of walking into that courtroom, of presenting herself to those who would judge her within the web Torio Claven had so carefully spun, seemed to press down upon her chest attempting to kill her by its very self. All she could do was to sob helplessly into Rilien's shoulder as he held her, crying without tears, wanting to scream her terror at him, but instead just shaking, clinging to him and never, ever wanting to let go.

"I've got faith, love," he assured her, pressing kisses to her skin, holding her as though aware on some instinctive level that it was all that kept her upright just now. "I've got faith. The Lady will watch over you today."

Brianna wasn't so sure that even Tymora's touch would be enough to turn this trial around for her. Still, she tried to channel his calmness, and finally found herself able to relax her clenched hands and let go of him. He promptly frowned at her and wiped away the bit of wetness around her eyes while she focused on taking deep breaths.

"Get yourself dressed, my sweet" he ordered her then, and handed her a shirt. "Apparently, we've got an appointment."

* * *

Ophala was waiting for her in one of the back rooms of the Moonstone Mask. It was not one Brianna had seen before, even though Rilien had taken her on several fairly extensive tours through the building during the mornings she'd woken up next to him there. It appeared to be a large wardrobe, so stuffed with dresses and trunks and accessories that it was nonetheless a very cramped space.

"Right," Ophala muttered as soon as they entered, eying her critically. "Right."

"What's right?" Brianna barely had a chance to ask before she was ushered to the chair in the middle of the room.

Ophala ignored her. "Nothing severe," she announced instead to the girl mixing paints on a nearby table. When said girl turned, Brianna recognized Evlyn, the beautiful dark-haired greeter. Next to her, Teelah the dancer was laying out brushes.

"She's to walk out of here fragile as a glass flower, yes?" Evlyn checked with her employer, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"My life might just depend on this, you know," Brianna pointed out, and Evlyn nodded and molded her expression into one of appropriate sobriety and concentration.

"This'll be just fascinating," predicted Neeshka, who had insisted on coming along, and found a place to sit.

Brianna had never in her life been made up before. A swamp town didn't exactly lend itself to parading around with one's hair done up and one's eyelids painted. Some of the girls near her age had dabbed a bit of red on their lips for the dance after the Harvest Fair, but they had mostly just looked ridiculous. West Harbor simply wasn't the place for that sort of thing. And ever since coming to Neverwinter, she hadn't exactly been invited to any glamorous celebrations.

"What's she to wear?" Evlyn demanded to know. "I'll have to match the colors to her dress, surely. Else she'll look like a tramp off a farm somewhere when it's all done."

Shandra, who had also shown an interest in tagging along, cleared her throat at this point, glaring around the room.

"Mind your manners, dearie," Ophala advised Evlyn, and went to rifle through the multitude of gowns hanging on the racks that lined the walls. "How about this one? It matches her eyes, and it'll make her skin look lovely."

She pulled out a dress that was surely worth more than Brianna might make in a year, working for the Watch. Brianna glimpsed emerald-green silk and ruffles just before they were pressed beneath her chin, Ophala frowning critically.

"Yes," Rilien said at once.

"Hush, you, you've got no eye for fashion," Teelah admonished him, then turned to have a look herself. "Oh, but that's lovely!"

Brianna spent the next hour or so being painted and having her hair pulled. She'd never put much thought into how much work it might take to get someone like Teelah looking her most gorgeous to entertain in the Mask. Now she was finding out that it was all rather painful. Her skin was rubbed with a cloth the texture of sandpaper, and Evlyn did something to her eyebrows that stung enough to make her eyes water.

"Hold your breath, else you'll sneeze," Ophala advised her at one point, and dusted her with some sort of powder.

Brianna sneezed. A cloud of glitter brightened the air.

"You're making me _glitter_?" she croaked.

"Yes," Ophala replied rather impatiently, and applied more powder to her thick brush. "Just a little, not all over. Now hush."

Brianna contented herself with staring at Rilien as though this was all his fault, and trying to ignore a snickering Neeshka. Ophala did know what she was doing, she reminded herself. And if it would have helped her get through the trial, she would have agreed to have the entirety of her skin sandpapered off in a heartbeat.

_Trial. Torio Claven. The courtroom. Ember._ Gods, it was only a few hours until the fact.

"Are you alright?" Evlyn wanted to know, peering into Brianna's face as her fingers put what Brianna hoped were the finishing touches on her hair. "You've gone all pale."

"Fine," Brianna whispered without trying to be particularly convincing.

Rilien pressed a glass of water into her hands. The first gulp she took felt like a chunk of ice traveling down her esophagus.

"Remember, Luskan is waiting for you to lose your composure. Don't give them the satisfaction." It was Ophala giving her this advice, once more picking up the green gown as she spoke. "Now then dearie, let's get this on you and find some shoes, and off you go to court."


	63. The Oncoming Storm

_Author's Note / Health Advisory: This chapter is LONG. I considered splitting it up, but, well, it didn't happen. Read at your own risk, and remember to breathe. I'd also like to take this opportunity to apologize for the long delay and to thank Kaana Moonshadow, who inadvertently managed to get my writing back in gear._

* * *

**The Oncoming Storm**

The courtroom was packed. Brianna hadn't entered it yet, but Sand had told her as much, flitting in and out of the antechamber. The noise of the crowd reached her ears every time someone opened one of the two sets of doors separating her from the trial that would decide her continued existence.

Her stomach was empty. Nobody had offered her food, probably because they suspected what she knew for a fact – she couldn't have kept it down. She wished Neeshka or Rilien or even just Duncan could have sat with her, but none of them had been allowed in the antechamber. Instead, she had the company of Sir Darmon of the Neverwinter Nine, the friendlier of the two knights who had come to arrest her several months ago. Four watchcloaks were sitting on a nearby bench, her very personal guard for the trial. Brianna suspected that they were here as much to prevent her from fleeing as to stop anyone else from attacking her.

Her insides appeared to have liquefied some minutes ago and left her feeling sick and faint. Her face was entirely numb – though, it occurred to her, this might have been an effect of the make-up on her skin. Ophala had refused to let her look into a mirror after her apparent transformation, but the windows of the antechamber were reflective enough with darkness falling rapidly outside and the lights inside so bright to give her a fair idea of what she looked like, which was… strange.

The ladies of the Moonstone Mask had somehow managed to sculpt her face in such a way to make it look as fragile as that of a porcelain doll. Her lips were softer and more vulnerable, her cheekbones appeared to be in a different spot than she had thought they were, and her hair, instead of being tangled and tied back the way she always wore it to keep it out of her face, was framing her like a softly floating, near-black cloud of glossy curls. She had to keep resisting the temptation to brush it behind her ears, which was already getting to be annoying.

Her eyes had gone through the oddest change of all. She'd always known they were green, of course, but suddenly their color seemed so much more obvious. She hadn't a clue how Evlyn had managed that. On top of it all, her lashes were longer and fuller than she remembered, and when she lowered them, staring at her reflection in the window, she discovered she almost looked like a noble lady, flirting with a knight. It was certainly a weird discovery to be making minutes before she was to be formally accused of cleaving people in two.

And then the dreaded words echoed through the antechamber as they did through the courtroom proper, carried by the full baritone of the Lord Justiciar of Tyr himself, the highest-ranking local priest of the God of Justice.

"We are gathered here today to determine the truth of the crime committed in the small village of Ember, its people slaughtered to the last man, woman and child."

This part, of course, was common knowledge by now, thanks to Torio's thorough work in seeding rumors. Still, a small uproar went through the crowd at the Reverend Judge's words, and it would be, Brianna suspected, the first of many this day.

"Under Tyr's guidance shall the truth of this matter be revealed, and justice delivered."

At those words, the four watchcloaks along the wall rose in unison. Brianna guessed that they were preparing to usher her into the courtroom, and even though she realized that this meant she would have to stand and walk, her motor functions seemed to have deserted her.

Everything was numb. She could barely even breathe as she felt her lungs being crushed by fear, and the weight of her skirts and petticoats appeared to have increased a thousandfold. She looked down on herself, finding her vision to be slightly blurry, and watched as her chest rose and sunk hectically beneath the green silk and golden lace, utterly unable to react even though she knew she had to.

There was a pressure beneath her elbow, and a hand around her waist.

"Up you go, Lieutenant," the voice of Sir Darmon reached her ears, sounding rather more kind than she would have expected.

She allowed the knight to help her to her feet and clenched his arm like a lifeline while she tried to regain some manner of feeling in her feet. The dainty slippers Ophala had given her to wear did nothing to help with this task. Before she knew it, the four watchcloaks had surrounded them and they were moving, Brianna stumbling along on Sir Darmon's arm, fighting yet another wave of rushing nausea and wishing that her heart would cease beating quite so painfully against her ribcage.

She had no idea whether her ears had simply ceased functioning along with most of the rest of her body as she stepped through the second pair of double doors, or whether the crowd had actually hushed in expectant silence when she was led to her spot on the floor. Her eyes traveled across the room, seeing so many faces, and her unable to recognize or even focus on even a single one of them. She watched blurred shapes in dresses and robes craning their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of her. There was not an empty spot to be found anywhere behind the balustrade separating the audience from the participants of the Ember trial, and the balcony above was packed with bodies, all standing shoulder to shoulder, many rows deep.

She didn't realize she had reached her spot until Sir Darmon placed her hands on the podium she would speak from. The wood felt cold beneath her hands. She grasped it hard, afraid she might actually faint.

"Breathe," a voice muttered into her ear. Only when she managed to turn her head to the right did she realize it was Sand who had spoken, just now placing his stack of notes on the podium. She tried to obey and found that her chest hurt as though pierced by a thousand needles as she sucked in air.

Her mind still was not processing what went on around her. When she turned again, the Luskan ambassador, Torio Claven, was standing less than ten feet away from her behind her own podium.

"My, my." Sand's voice again. "Torio must be looking to convince the crowd first and foremost of the fact that she had not yet passed fourty years of age, it appears."

Brianna assumed the wizard meant to draw her attention to the fact that the ambassador's skirt featured a slit so high it nearly reached her hip. Considering that she herself had glitter on her face, Brianna thought, her mind still reeling wildly, she probably shouldn't judge.

She only listened with one ear to Lord Nasher's opening speech. It was important, certainly, with her fate being the one hanging in the balance, but her mind was busy trying to work past the fear that was paralyzing it and trying to remember what came afterwards.

_Evidence_, she finally found what she'd been looking for through the haze. _After the formal accusation, there'll be a presentation of the evidence, first weighing against me, then what we found to prove my innocence. Then witnesses, again first those speaking against me, then those in my favor, with an opportunity to cross-examine each witness as they take the stand. _

Her heart hammered in her chest. _Accusation. Evidence. Witnesses. Statements. Deliberations. Verdict._ She repeated the words in her mind, one along with each frantic heartbeat, over and over until the haze cleared just a little and her mind was able to function.

"Are you ready?" Sand asked her, interrupting the seventh iteration of her litany. She realized this meant Nasher's speech was nearing its end, and the fog in her head thickened once more.

"If ever there was a time for you to look dainty, this is it," the wizard hissed behind her. "Torio is getting ready to present her accusation."

He was right. Only a minute or so later, Brianna was formally accused, before a crowd of hundreds of upstanding Neverwinter citizens, of the slaughter of the villagers of Ember, down to the last man, woman and child.

She hoped she looked dainty as she stood there, clutching the podium with one hand and the fabric of the skirts she was not used to wearing with the other. Torio's voice rang in her ears, less their meaning but their tone, so vicious and sharp as to intimidate her, to increase her fear of facing down the woman who was dishing out such vitriol so early in the proceedings. Trying to distract herself, she once more scanned the crowd, obscured by semi-darkness, for people she knew.

There was Sal, the bartender from the Flagon. His bald head caught her attention, but he was too far away for her to meet his eyes, and he seemed to be standing by himself. Near him, she recognized a group of three greycloaks from Old Owl Well, currently out of uniform and apparently talking amongst themselves. The ranger Albrecht, with whom she had spent so many hours watching for Orcs, up in the mountains, stood next to them. Further up on the balcony, she thought she recognized the faces of Neeshka and Elanee.

Eventually, on the far left side of the room, she spotted the blond head of Mandra from the Moonstone Mask. Her eyes wandered from her to Ophala herself, standing tall and proud in a surprisingly conservative dress with a starched collar. Evlyn was there, and Teelah as well, and between them stood Rilien, his eyes firmly fixed on her.

She wondered whether they all knew how much courage it gave her to see them standing there, and even for those she couldn't see, just to know they were there. A peculiar sort of spark warmed her chest, calming her a little, helping her to focus. When Sand's hand touched hers again after Torio's speech was over, she thought she was more prepared to face what lay ahead than she had been walking in.

It still wasn't the easiest thing she'd done lately, to stand there and listen to Sir Nevalle's monotonous voice as the knight read the first of several eyewitness reports, painstakingly describing the garish details of the aftermath of Ember down to the number of frozen corpses left unburied. As he read roll after roll of parchment, Brianna couldn't help but remember the destruction and death she herself had seen on her journey north. The burnt out, charred ruins of what had once been a town, the headless quartermaster, the little girl who'd been cut down from the back.

"Is there a break coming up any time soon?" she asked Sand under her breath, leaning close to her legal counsel. Already, she could have used a few minutes to compose herself.

The wizard didn't take his eyes of Nevalle as he answered.

"This is not exactly a play with intermissions, you know. Unless the Reverend Judge and Lord Nasher agree that there is need for additional discussion or clarification in private, the trial will keep moving forward."

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped by several degrees by the time Nevalle's task was at an end. As he rolled up the last parchment, Brianna's ears picked up the first angry shouts from up on the balcony. "Burn the butcher!" was clearly among the cries, picked up by several other people across the room.

Gritting her teeth, she widened her eyes theatrically as she turned to look, and gave her lips the slightest hint of a tremble, just enough as to appear real, not enough as to have those who picked up on it doubt her sincerity.

_Might as well go all the way with this poor, pretty little girl act. _

She turned to Sand, eyes still wide, as though expecting him to pull a miracle out of thin air. In a way, that was actually what she was hoping for. The moon elf was busy flattening his robes, an expression of utter concentration on his face.

"Be sure to keep your composure during this next bit," he told her, still keeping his voice impossibly low. "You have been doing well so far."

She hadn't really done all that much, unless one considered staring wide-eyed and not bursting into tears to be major accomplishments. Brianna chose to take the compliment at face value though, and tried blinking her eyes slowly several times in a row while putting a dazed look on her face, an act she had just witnessed on a noblewoman sitting behind the balustrade. If successful, she hoped it would make her look just as lost and confused.

"_Don't_ overdo it," she heard Sand's voice once more, and promptly lost the dazed look.

She watched Sand step forward just a moment later, at Lord Nasher's command, taking charge of the presentation of evidence. Since Torio's accusations relied entirely on eyewitness reports, this part was Sand's show, and from the looks of it, he intended to make a lasting impression on the audience. It was the first time she had ever heard him give a carefully worded, thought out speech in front of an audience. Two minutes in, she realized she'd never been so glad that Sand had agreed to represent her.

He started off calmly, thanking Nasher for allowing him to speak and smuggling in some backhanded compliment about Torio's accusation that got several members of the audience chuckling and lightened the somber mood almost imperceptibly. Then, however, as he turned to look at Brianna, his manner changed to that of a man whose outrage was impossibly to miss, a man with such utter conviction of the innocence of his charge that Brianna couldn't see how there might be a single member of the audience left to wonder whether Sand really believed what he was saying.

He kept talking in the same manner as he smoothly began to plant the seeds of the plan they had agreed on back in Port Llast, the implication that it had in fact been the city of Luskan who had committed the crime, and the attempt to stir up sentiment against the ambassador. If Brianna hadn't known where Sand was going with what he was saying, she wouldn't have caught it, and she was certain that even Torio Claven herself had yet to figure out their exact strategy. The woman was good, but Sand, as Brianna had just now realized, might be even better.

Almost casually, Sand allowed their first piece of evidence to underline his words. His questions were innocent at first as Lord Nasher and Judge Oleff examined the logbook of the quartermaster of Ember, asking them to describe the last few pages of entries, pointing out the blooming trade relations which Ember had with both Luskan and Neverwinter, then waiting only seconds for the both to notice – and announce – the sudden drop of Luskan shipments shortly before the attack.

Their reward was the next instance of the crowd's displeasure being directed at Torio and not Brianna. It felt good to watch the subtle tightening of the ambassador's full lips the first time she lost the crowd's favor. Brianna hoped to watch it many more times this night.

She kept watching and listening attentively as Sand presented the two rings they had taken from members of the Circle of Blades, taking care to describe the organization as one well-known and tolerated within Luskan's walls, and eventually illuminated the use of the Changing potion they had acquired from the dryad back in the Duskwood. Brilliantly, the moon elf asked for a volunteer on which to test the potion, taking care to mention how the dryad herself had referred them to the Hosttower, the de facto rulers of Luskan, as the ones she had entered a deal with, trading for the potion. Of course, there was no way for them to prove what the dryad had said, but Sand was careful to keep the mentions of Luskan involvement subtle instead of pointing the finger outright. By the time his presentation was finished, Brianna glimpsed audience members whispering with each other once again, some shaking their heads as they stared at Torio, others giving her looks of pity. The relief as the worst of the weight ceased presing down on her chest was indescribable.

"I love you," she told Sand once the wizard returned to his spot behind the podium. "Marry me."

One side of his mouth curled upwards subtly, indicating amusement.

"Flattering as that is, my dear Brianna, I _am_ approximately one hundred and fifty years too old for you."

"Details," she waved him away, but promptly fell serious once more as Torio Claven took the stage.

The Luskan ambassador was no stranger to courtroom drama, and it showed. She had taken the swing of the audience sympathies away from her position with far more composure than Brianna might have, and now, put on the spot, she wasted no time in beginning to tear apart their evidence. Sand had warned her that the ambassador would find plenty of opportunities to denounce their finds and call them liars, and he proved to be right. In about a tenth of the time it had taken Sand to make his case, Torio had taken it all apart again, latching on to every single thing they could not prove beyond a doubt, calling the logbook a fake, the rings planted and the Changing potion a transparent attempt by a pathetic elven alchemist to relive the nonexistent glory days of his law career.

Even Sand winced a little once she was finished. The ambassador's speech seemed to have elicited so many different reactions, Brianna was completely lost as to whether she had the crowd on her side just now, or not.

"Sand?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Calm yourself," her lawyer advised, nodding his chin towards the front of the room. "It appears you are indeed about to receive the break you wished for."

Indeed, both Lord Nasher and Judge Oleff appeared to be giving instructions to Sir Nevalle, the ruler of Neverwinter jabbing his finger at the documents laying in front of him, the gray-bearded Reverend Judge frowning at one of the rings of the Circle of Blades, which he still held between two fingers, nodding sporadically as he talked. Eventually, the knight of the Nine stepped forward dutifully, and announced that the time for preliminary deliberations had arrived.

"We surprised them," Sand elaborated as they were escorted into a side room by the same four watchcloaks who had led her into the courtroom to begin with. "'Preliminary deliberations' means nothing but the two of them requesting time to wrap their bald, shiny heads around the facts as we presented them."

"Brilliant," Brianna commented, realized her legs had turned into rubber, and sank into a convenient armchair with yellow and red upholstery. She glanced towards one of the arched windows, only to realize that it was pitch black darkness outside. Night had fallen early, as it was still winter. She wondered briefly how late they would be here tonight, with all the witness testimonies and deliberations still to come.

"Things are going well, you know," Sand told her, sitting down as well, though he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

Someone had set up a table with refreshments below another arched window. Brianna wanted to hug whoever had done it, as for the first time this day, she felt something akin to an appetite. Soft rolls and aged cheese that melted in her mouth did far more to raise her spirits than Sand's half-cooked reassurances. With every bite, a small speck of her courage returned.

When she looked up again, Sand had spread his papers out across his lap and both armrests of his own chair and was sorting through them with a frown on his face.

"Torio will have figured out the essence of our strategy by now," he informed Brianna. "Expect as much when she cross-examines our witnesses. This entire affair will become rather messy once she realizes there is a chance of her losing this."

Brianna wished she could remember a time when the case of Ember hadn't been messy. She spent several moments staring at her own hands and trying to chase away the negative thoughts that threatened her composure. When she looked up again, Sir Darmon had quietly settled himself into the chair between herself and Sand.

"You are doing good work," he told them, barely audible. Brianna leaned forward to catch his words. "At this point in the proceedings, I am required to remain a neutral party, mind you, but…" He hesitated, then looked at both of them in turn. "It is no secret how strained Luskan-Neverwinter relations have been ever since the war, and I am not the only one who believes that it was a mistake to concede as much as Lord Nasher did during the rebuilding, to sign as generous a treaty as he did. If I had to wager a guess, I would chance to claim that even Milord himself regrets that act, now."

"We cannot push the angle of Luskan as a scapegoat too forcefully," Sand told the knight with an especially tense facial expression. "Should we do this, it would appear like an ovious, clumsy attempt to distract from some manner of wrongdoing on our parts."

"I know that." Sir Darmon's tone had gained a soothing note. "But if you were to win the case outright, being careful to keep with this strategy, in essence the act of declaring Lieutenant Storm innocent would at the same time be seen as a clear indicator of Luskan murdering their own village and attempting to shift the blame onto a Neverwinter subject."

"Well," Brianna said, tilting her head meaningfully, "that _is_, after all, what actually happened."

Sand's expression, however, was frozen, and Brianna threw him a questioning look even as Sir Darmon talked again.

"Just think of the consequences," he urged.

Brianna failed to see what he was implying, likely because the fact of her being able to keep living and remaining a free citizen greatly overshadowed any other consequences her mind might have come up with.

"Of course." Sand, apparently, suffered no such restrictions. "In painting Luskan as the villain yet again, the outcome of this trial will give Nasher a convenient excuse to cool Neverwinter's relations with them while fearing minimal political backlash."

Brianna failed to see this as the stunning revelation the two men were making it out to be.

"So I've graduated to being a political pawn. Not exactly the most amazing of news, is it?" She crossed her arms, glaring at both men in turn.

Sand cleared his throat and leaned so far forward that she thought he might fall out of his seat any second.

"As you undoubtedly lack the political experience to judge the situation properly, let me explain the matter in as few words as possible. If we win this – win it outright, with little to no doubts left about what really happened at Ember, convincing the crowd as well as the judge and Milord of your innocence and Luskan's framing - then Lord Nasher is going to be very, _very_ thankful to you."

She thought about this for a moment, frowned, then shook her head.

"Sorry," she said. "Still doesn't mean anything in light of that little 'Brianna's corpse won't be decorating the gallows' detail."

"Well, you will be much happier about it once the time has come," Sand assured her, patting her hand.

"Whatever you say," she dismissed him, unwilling to think of matters only tangentially related to the case just now. Instead, she craned her neck at his notes. "Any special advice for this next part?"

Sand's eyes wandered towards the door, as though he expected for all of them to be called back into the courtroom at any moment.

"Just keep your composure," he said then. "Feel free to cross-examine any witnesses if you can think of a relevant question to ask, but be very, very careful that any answer they might give will not have the potential to implicate you further."

It was a no-brainer, after all the studying of court transcripts she had done, but she nodded meekly anyway. The theory of speaking on the courtroom floor was a whole different matter from the reality of it, she had clued in to this fact by now. With any luck, she thought as the call for the end of recess went through the building and she mechanically rose to follow Sir Darmon, she would do well enough to keep her head from the sling. Anything beyond that was Sand's responsibility, and, oddly enough, the talk with Sir Darmon almost seemed to motivate the wizard more than the promise of Brianna's continued existence. She couldn't make up her mind whether or not this was supposed to be a comfort to her.

* * *

Alaine Tanner was crying.

Brianna had started to think that this particular interrogation was getting rather ridiculous, but judging by Sand's face, they were losing points for every second the stream of tears kept flowing from the eyes of the young woman with the dull blond braids. Torio's questioning had been clever enough, with the ambassador taking care to sound kind and compassionate while at the same time pushing all the right buttons to force the girl to relive her trauma. Once Torio had finished her questioning, Sand had been left with a pathetically weeping heap in crumpled skirts to cross-examine at his leisure.

And the crowd was upset once more. Brianna watched the uproars from the corner of her eye, hands balled into fists below the podium. She tried to ignore the repeated calls of "Burn the Butcher!" but it was more difficult than she had thought to let an anonymous crowd's ill wishes roll of her back.

Sand's wit was probably the sharpest in the room, but he was not particularly talented at pretending to be friendly to someone he had precious little respect for. Brianna he could tell he was trying, as not to lose them any more points. Still, Alaine was obviously teetering dangerously close to the edge of her barely regained composure. She was not about to address the woman herself, because she had a feeling it would not go over well.

"I… I don't know, to be sure," Alaine was answering an easier one of Sand's question, one he had previously asked her at Port Llast. "A two-hander, I think it was, a very big sword. She must be m-much stronger than she looks."

The girl appeared to have convinced herself that this was true since they had talked to her in Port Llast. She seemed surprised and unnerved when skeptical murmurs ran through the room for the first time. Brianna barely kept herself from smiling. This was what Sand had been hoping for, dressing her up like a life-sized fragile doll. With the way she was currently made up, the image of her with a two-hander in her hands was ridiculous all on its own. It was the key to discrediting Alaine's testimony, or at least to get the crowd to reconsider the truth of the Changing potion they had presented earlier.

Sand kept the remainder of his questions light and gentle, once more asking the girl to describe Brianna's companions during the slaughter, which, according to Alaine, had still all been human males, and ending by asking her to describe how she had gotten away. The girl finally left the stand, helped along by Sir Nevalle in a similar manner that Sir Darmon had helped Brianna at the beginning of the trial, and Brianna promptly breathed more freely.

"This could have gone better, but it almost certainly could have gone worse," Sand muttered next to her. She rather agreed.

"I call Elghun of Port Llast to the stand," Torio announced.

Brianna did not recognize the next person to be led to the witness stand at all. It was a man, round and red-cheeked, wearing a hunter's hat with a jaunty yellow feather, breathing heavily as he ascended the wooden stairs.

"I saw everything that happened at Ember," he announced, before Torio had even opened her mouth to ask the first question. "Everything. Tried to defend the place with my life, but I was too late, I was!" He wiped at his tiny eyes, as though he thought he might be crying.

"Order," Judge Oleff said mildly. "The witness will speak when spoken to."

Elghun nodded deeply.

Brianna turned sharply towards Sand. "Who in the hells is this clown?"

"I don't know," Sand replied, looking oddly like a cat might spotting a particularly juicy mouse. "But unless my considerably sharp instincts deceive me, Torio has taken a bit of a risk bringing this one to the stand in her eagerness to produce witnesses."

"Let's hope," Brianna muttered, not sharing the elf's optimism.

They listened carefully as Elghun, prompted by Torio Claven, presented his own version of the attacks of Ember. It seemed to Brianna as though it was a practiced tale he told, as though he had shared it many times with those he would listen, boasting of his own prowess with the blade as he described himself cutting down several of the murderers. The entire thing rang so utterly false to Brianna that she spent the entire second part of the testimony grinding her teeth and fighting the temptation to pull this Elghun off the stand and smack a bit of sense into him using the broad side of the sword she wasn't currently carrying. The crowd, however, seemed to be eating up the tale. It took Brianna a moment to realize that Elghun played them quite masterfully, turning to them as though looking for reassurance, giving them the opportunity to relate to his words.

"Sand," she said once the sign to cross-examine had been given by the Lord Justiciar. "Would you mind very much if I tried my hand with this one?"

She would have to speak before the courtroom sooner or later, she figured, and now that her nervousness found itself overshadowed by frustration and sheer annoyance at the foppish man on the stand, it was as good a time as any to get her feet wet. If she missed anything important, Sand would get a chance to ask his own questions after she was finished.

With the moon elf's blessing, she stepped forward and grasped the edges of the podium with both hands.

"Right," she said, using the word to gouge the volume of her voice. Alaine had been so quiet that her voice had required magical amplification from the Cloaktower mage standing at the ready for just such cases, and she was trying to avoid him having to do the same for her. At the same time, she hadn't forgotten that she was supposed to be playing the role of the lost-looking, delicate woman, not a drill sergeant.

"Thank you, Elghun, for your, ah, testimony."

Speaking before so large a crowd took a lot of getting used to. Brianna briefly wondered whether she would spend the entirety of her cross-examination babbling, but she needn't have feared. Elghun's expression as he nodded, so self-assured and at the same time so dismissive of her, stoked the anger once more and helped her pull herself together.

"Why were you at Ember when the attack happened, anyway? And how did you get back to Port Llast afterwards?" she latched onto the two biggest holes in the man's tale.

"One question at a time," Judge Oleff immediately chided her, and she felt the heat rising into her cheeks. She had known that, blast it all. It was just so difficult to think, with all eyes in the entire damn courtroom focused on her.

"My apologies," she stammered, and tried again. "Why were you at Ember the day of the attack, Elghun?"

"I was hunting," the man replied immediately, already talking with hand gestures as much as with his mouth. "'twas just a coincidence that I came upon the village, well, I saw the smoke from far away, of course, and thought to myself that someone likely needed rescuing, so I grabbed my trusty sword, I did, and…"

"You have already related this part," Judge Oleff pointed out, cutting the man off in the middle of his sentence. Elghun looked deflated. Brianna was glad that she, at least, was not the only one being chided by the Lord Justiciar.

"And, how did you manage to get away, then?"

Alaine already hadn't had a good answer to the question, but it had not been prudent to press her on her lucky escape, close to tears as she had been. With Elghun, Brianna saw no need to tiptoe around the man's feelings. He seemed hardy enough.

"I don't rightly know," the man admitted. "I was… struck down, I think, from the back, it must have been, see."

"They carved you up from the back, and yet you are looking so well now?" Brianna fought hard to keep the skepticism from her voice, instead managing to sound awed. "Goodness! May we see the scars, by chance?"

"There weren't… I haven't got…" Elghun, for the first time, appeared to be getting the slightest bit flustered. "They must have used a club to beat me down, see, I mean, er, you lot must have used a club to beat me down, yes you did."

It was the first time he actually seemed to catch on to the fact that Brianna was the one he was supposed to have fought against. She had him stumbling, but not yet falling.

"Then why did the attackers not finish you off?" she asked, purposely avoiding taking on the role of the Butcher of Ember.

"Must've thought I was dead already, I'm guessing," Elghun grunted.

"Hm. I see. You were certainly lucky then, since we already heard that the attackers cleaved even those who already lay dying in two. Our previous witness described the brutality in detail, I believe. But you bear no scars at all? Not even from the fighting before you were struck down, when you were fencing with two of them at once, as you testified?"

"Well, I don't…" Elghun was rattled, and the crowd was beginning to get restless. Brianna liked to hear it. "I heal fast, I do, and…"

"Any injuries Elghun sustained were healed immediately by us when he returned," Torio interrupted, uncharacteristically hasty.

"Objection!" Sand howled like he'd just been stung by a particularly lawful bee. "The ambassador is putting words into the mouth of the witness."

Brianna, who had been about to protest the same thing, lamely lowered her half-raised arm.

"Sustained," Judge Oleff said, leaning forward. "Ambassador, you are not on the stand, so hold your tongue."

"Right," Brianna said once again, trying to collect herself. "Could you tell me where your injuries were, Elghun, even though you don't have any scars?"

"Of course," Elghun said rather boastfully. "There was a big gash straight across my chest, throat to navel, and, er, another down my leg, and a third on my shoulder."

"Big gashes, were they?" Brianna asked innocently. "Down to the bone, with lots of blood?"

Elghun nodded.

"My, that must have taken a very skilled healer to fix without even leaving a scar. Say, who was it that healed you so quickly and efficiently, Elghun?"

For the first time, the foppish man was at a complete loss for words. As though searching, he turned to the crowd, and eventually to Ambassador Claven, pointing.

"Why she did," he said then, nodding. "She did, of course, as she said."

"A cleric in my employ did the work," Torio amended lamely.

"Objection," Sand and Brianna shouted at once.

"Sustained. Ambassador, if you did not want your witness to speak for himself, you should not have put him on the stand."

Brianna was starting to like the Lord Justiciar of Tyr. He was apparently a sensible enough man. Torio's hasty reaction had not impressed the members of the audience, all of whom, she hoped, should have considerable doubts about Elghun's story by now.

"No more questions," she remembered to say before stepping back. Sand, as well, declined to question Elghun, and so the man, looking suddenly happy to be out of the spotlight, stumbled down the wooden stairs.

"Good work, for your first witness," Sand complimented her. She clasped her hands together and realized they were slick with sweat.

"Thanks," she rasped.

Witnesses for the defense were scheduled to appear next, and Sand had amassed quite a few of them for her. The first of the lot was Captain Brelaina herself, and the wizard had but four questions for her.

"The accused has been in your employ for several months, is this correct?"

"Yes," the captain said calmly, looking perfectly composed up on the stand. Her face was relaxed, her hazel eyes bright with intelligence. She was acting no different as though she was speaking in her office, seated behind her desk and discussing some Watch matter.

"And after knowing her for quite some time, how would you describe the accused in the matter of her character?"

"Dependable," Brelaina answered at once. "Determined, dutiful and courageous, with a clear sense of justice and morals, and a good head on her shoulders."

"And could you describe for the court what sort of a weapon the accused generally utilized while working under you?"

"A short sword," Brelaina said pleasantly. "Most of the watchcloaks of Neverwinter carry longswords, but she does not."

"Would you care to speculate as to why she has decided to carry a non-standard weapon, Captain?"

"Because any weapon larger than a short sword would be difficult for her to wield, given that she is not nearly as strong as the average watchcloak." Brelaina was elegantly reaffirming the ridiculousness of Alaine's testimony that Brianna had wielded a two-hander.

Torio, probably wisely so, declined the opportunity to cross-examine Captain Brelaina. Brianna likely wouldn't have chanced it either, had she been in the ambassador's shoes. It was obvious enough that the captain would be difficult to corner with rhetoric.

Brianna wished this would have been the case with the next witness they brought to the stand. Fact was though, Marcus was a complete mystery to her when it came to his ability to speak in front of a crowd, and to avoid the ambassador's barbs and pitfalls. She watched closely as the boy was led to the stand by Nevalle.

Marcus was still quite obviously far too thin, but he did not look nearly as sickly as he had when they had first met him, back in the forest near Ember. Someone had done a good job of finding cloth breeches and a man's shirt which actually fit the boy. Brianna hoped the fact would give him confidence. He was looking as serious as ever when he took the stand, his deep-set dark eyes wandering to and fro as he took it all in, but the crowd didn't seem to rattle him.

"Hello Marcus," she said when his eyes first wandered her way.

"Hello," he replied.

The Cloaktower mage frowned and cast his voice enhancement spell onto the witness stand.

"Thank you," Marcus said politely, without ever turning to look at the mage. This time, his words were heard all around the courtroom.

"This witness may require a bit of explanation before we commence the questioning," Sand stated and turned fully towards Lost Nasher and Judge Oleff. "If I may?"

The Reverend Judge inclined his head, looking curious, and Sand begun yet another little speech, this one full of overblown pathos, which he had obviously spent a long time writing out.

"This young boy, Marcus of Ember, was very nearly a victim of the terrible slaughter that wiped out his home village. As the village green stood in flames and the blood of everyone he ever knew was spilling onto the frozen ground, Marcus only just got away from it all. Frightened, he hid in a well for several weeks, barely surviving in the dead of winter, with only his extraordinary courage to keep him company. You may wonder, how did this poor boy manage to escape the fate which befell the villagers of Ember? How did he know that the only way for him to live to tell the tale of his home's terrible destruction was to stay hidden in utter darkness for such a long time, until he was finally found? The truth, ladies and gentlemen, is that Marcus of Ember was blessed with a most extraordinary gift of foresight. It enables him to see the future in the making, to know a person's past, and what is even more, it gives him the ability to see straight through a magical disguise."

The crowd reacted rather strongly, in a subdued sort of way. Left, right and center, people were clutching each other's arms or covering their mouths with their hands, shaking their heads, muttering words of pity and admiration. Several women near the front were shedding tears.

It occurred to Brianna that if Sand's shop ever failed to bring the wizard enough revenue, he could probably have made a comfortable living playing the part of a bard. She was also pretty sure she had never enjoyed anything quite as much as she enjoyed the look on Torio Claven's face just now. The woman, it appeared, had had no clue, not even the faintest idea of Marcus' existence up until this point. The realization warmed Brianna's heart.

"Objection!" the ambassador finally reacted, though Brianna could have told her it would be futile. "There have been no reports of another survivor, none whatsoever! If the defense turns this court into a mockery by bringing false witnesses to the stand…"

Brianna thought that was rather rich, coming from the same person who had supported the testimony of someone like Elghun. She glanced towards Sand who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

"I have written affidavits from several Port Llast citizens to whom Marcus was known as a resident of Ember," the wizard informed Lord Nasher and Judge Oleff as much as everyone else in the room. "Of course, we could always bring back Miss Alaine Tanner, who will no doubt testify that the boy Marcus…"

"It isn't needed." Torio barely had enough control of her facial features to hide her rage. Brianna might have felt a tinge of sympathy for any other person in the same sort of situation. Torio' star witness, Alaine, was threatening to be dethroned rather thoroughly, if it turned out that her first-person testimony of the events was not only one of two, but also, possibly, the less accurate of them both.

"Objection withdrawn, then," Judge Oleff guided the process gently back into its proper rails. "The defense may proceed with questioning their witness."

Sand stepped forward rather obviously gleeful. Brianna hoped he would manage to regain control of himself soon. It wouldn't gain them any sympathy points to stand there gloating, no matter how satisfying it felt to have gotten the better of Torio so thoroughly.

"Marcus, may I ask you to please describe what you saw with your special gift the day of Ember's destruction?"

"Yes," the boy said seriously, and nodded.

Then he stood there, looking expectant.

The crowd was silent, also expectant.

Marcus kept waiting. Sand's hands, clasped behind his back, looked like they were trying to kill each other. Brianna's eyes moved swiftly from the wizard back to Marcus, who still appeared to be patiently waiting for something, and then the realization dawned on her before she had even properly thought about it.

_Oh, surely not. He wouldn't take a question _this_ literally. _

"Marcus," she said, stepping forward as well, trying to force a smile as the nervousness reared its ugly head once more and attempted to break her concentration. "Please describe what you saw when Ember was destroyed."

"There was a lot to see," the boy replied at once, and Sand's shoulders sagged with relief as his hands came unclenched. "There was a lot of fire, first the torches, and then the houses when they set them all on fire, and the wind only made it all worse and chased the flames from one roof to the next, like they were playing games up there. I like watching games, sometimes. I would have kept watching if I didn't have to hide."

Sand and Brianna exchanged a look. Earnest as Marcus was, he would need some more guidance in order to give a proper testimony.

"Did you see the person leading the attack?" Sand wanted to know.

"Yes."

"And what did you see when you looked at this person?" Sand had obviously learned from his mistake and no longer expected the boy to elaborate on a yes and no question.

"It was a man," Marcus said, and climbed down the stairs of the witness stand.

Sand threw Brianna a frantic look, as though she had enticed the boy to do it. She was trying to think of the kindest was to tell Marcus that his time on the stand was not yet over when he talked again, the magical spell still enhancing his voice.

"A man, tallest I ever saw, taller than any of the folks in Ember, taller than anyone else in here. And broad, like four of me all standing next to one another, that broad he was, and bald, too."

Marcus was crossing the floor as he spoke. Judge Oleff had half risen from his seat, but he appeared to be so captivated by what Marcus was saying that he couldn't manage to get the words out that would send the boy back to his spot on the stand. The rest of the audience was listening just as breathlessly.

"He screamed a lot, he did, and I didn't want to look at him for too long, but I knew I had to, to tell you all about it."

Walking tentatively, Marcus had reached the balustrade and passed within inches of the front row of the audience. Finally he came to a halt, almost to the exit of the room, leaning forward in order to peer behind one of the massive pillars, his pale face screwed up in concentration.

"This is what he looked like," he said simply, pointed, and turned to go back to the stand.

There was an uproar which it took the entirety of the watchcloaks lining the walls to calm. At Marcus' words the crowd near the pillar had turned, and found the massive man who'd been standing in the shadow of the pillar, fitting the boy's description perfectly. As fingers were pointed and several decisive spectators attempted to make their way to the pillar, the man stepped backwards and nearly crushed those standing behind him. He was shoved, and shoved back, and among the resulting howls of outrage, the watchcloaks hurried through the masses to stop the riot in the making.

"Well," Sand muttered, leaning close to Brianna while she couldn't seem to take her eyes of the impossibly broad chest spanned by a dark grey tunic, and the man's expression of rage. "I think we might have just found our Lorne."

"Can we get him arrested on suspicion of murder?" Brianna wanted to know, feeling cold as she dispassionately watched her fellow watchcloaks making liberal use of the wooden batons they carried for the purpose of crowd control.

Sand shook his head.

"Remember, Ember is in Luskan territory, and unless he is a Neverwinter citizen, which I very much doubt, Luskan has every say in the matter. I suppose technically we _could_ have him arrested, but a word from Luskan would set him free again immediately.

"So we have the real Butcher of Ember an arm's length away and can't do anything about it. Bloody fucking hells, Sand." Brianna's jaw was beginning to hurt from how much she had clenched her teeth this night. She heard the voice of the ambassador and turned back just in time to catch Torio Claven addressing the Reverend Judge.

"Is this a good time to make a motion to strike this part of his testimony from the record?" The ambassador's face was stone, even as her tone turned syrup-sweet.

"Granted," Judge Oleff acknowledged. Brianna was not surprised, since Marcus pointing the finger had been full of irregularities, with him walking off the stand. It hardly mattered now, though. They had just received the wonderful gift of one villain, courtesy of Luskan, who apparently had thought themselves safe enough to let the man named Lorne attend the trial. The crowd now had someone else towards whom to direct their anger. Not even striking the testimony from the court records could take that back.

For the first time since she had set foot into the courtroom, Brianna felt a surge of confidence within her, helping her move forward like a strong wind filling a sail. For the first time, she thought there was a very good chance she might win this.

Torio was smart enough not to cross-examine Marcus, either. Any genuine doubts the ambassador had about Marcus' abilities had certainly been erased after the boy's revelation, and if Torio attempted to expose him as a fraud, she risked instead proving before an audience how powerful his Seeing skill was. So the boy left the stand, his expression as he did so no different from the one he had worn walking into the room.

"Not much left, now," Sand muttered as he once again reordered his notes. "The next two are character witnesses, and neither of them should not give Torio much of an attack angle. Then, of course, you will have to take the stand as well." He was no longer acting giddy, but somber instead, and appeared to have gotten a grip on himself again.

Brianna nodded mechanically. She had been only too aware of that fact this whole time. Her nervousness had dissipated by now, for the most part, but she still was not looking forward to having to submit herself to Torio's questioning.

The next witness brought a bit of a surprise with him. She had known, of course, that Sand had planned to let Commander Callum from Old Owl Well testify, but she hadn't realized that the dwarven fighter would strut into the room wearing a familiar deep blue cloak emblazoned with an even more familiar silver eye.

Startled, she turned to Sand. "Why did you never think to mention that Callum is one of the Nine?"

He looked at her, just as startled. "I thought you knew."

"How? He didn't exactly walk around the mountains in full ceremonial regalia, spouting off his titles and honors every night before bed."

"It does not change anything, does it?" Sand asked, a little testily.

Brianna frowned. It didn't change things, not really, but she felt thrown off-balance now because she felt like she should have known this about a man under whom she had served so many weeks, back at Old Owl Well. It had seemed simple enough when Sand had proposed to use the commander as a witness. The only pitfall they needed to avoid was having the commander talk all to much about the number of orcs Brianna herself had slaughtered. Now, suddenly, irrational doubts rose within her.

"Just be careful," she told Sand when he moved to begin his questioning.

The battle-scarred dwarf stood straight and proud, giving Sand an expectant look.

"Lord Callum," the moon elf began, actually managing a half-bow, which Callum accepted with a serious nod of his head. "As everyone here today is undoubtedly aware, you have done great things in the service of Neverwinter, first and foremost the successful defense of our sovereign lands. You met the accused during your most recent campaign, is this correct?"

"That is correct," Callum said. No spell was needed to enhance his voice, which rang through the courtroom loud and clear, the voice of one who commanded armies. "The accused assisted me in defending Old Owl Well from the orc bands, and she completed a most perilous mission to scout the mountains for a kidnapped emissary from Waterdeep, whom she successfully rescued, and which in turn improved our diplomatic relations with Waterdeep. Without her assistance, Old Owl Well would certainly remain controlled by orcs."

Though the fact that he was a member of the Neverwinter Nine might have given it away, Brianna hadn't known or expected Callum to be such an experienced public speaker. His composure outshone even Captain Brelaina's efforts in the stand. Brianna couldn't help but like the way he described her involvement in the Sword Mountains. She had to admit, she hadn't thought that everything she had gone through just to get into the Blacklake district would actually end up being useful in any way beyond accomplishing that goal.

"All of Neverwinter owes a debt of gratitude to Lieutenant Storm," Callum continued without being prompted. "These foul charges are a travesty, indeed, and while I am honored to speak in defense of the accused, I am saddened by its necessity."

Cyric's blood, he was laying it on thick. Brianna blinked several times, staring at the commander as though she was expecting him to be a hallucination. The audience was eating up the praises he had just heaped upon her though, and as far as she could tell, Callum was quite popular among Neverwinter's citizens.

"No further questions," Sand said smoothly, turning, the smile on his face silently daring Torio to do her worst.

Brianna thought she should have seen it coming.

"Lord Callum." Torio's voice could have cut through glass as she stepped forward. "You just expressed the opinion that the charges against the accused are a travesty, is this correct?"

Brianna couldn't tell where the ambassador was going with this, so she simply continued to watch, her eyes narrowed.

Callum was nodding again. "I feel that they are unfounded, yes," the dwarf confirmed.

"Is this because the accusation was made by Luskan?"

Was the ambassador trying to accuse Callum of hating Luskans? Who in this room didn't, such a short time after the war? Indeed, confirming this statement, politically incorrect as it was, was likely to gain Callum points with the audience instead of losing them. Brianna felt herself tense. Surely, the ambassador was not this clueless about the effect her questions were having, so _what_ was her intention?

Callum, predictably, confirmed the ambassador's suspicion.

"Looking back on the shared history of Neverwinter and Luskan, I can count on one hand the times that Luskan has displayed honest intentions in dealing with us. It is for good reason that low justice and high justice were divided by the treaty, and I do not believe that any Neverwinter citizen put before a Luskan court of law would ever receive fair treatment. Luskan has much to gain by casting down a loyal servant of Neverwinter, and no, I do not believe them trustworthy in the least when it comes to the matter of this court!"

The crowd howled and applauded their support. Callum's impassioned speech had roused them, the crescendo of his voice echoing throughout the hall, underlined by the shouts of the masses. Anti-Luskan sentiment was strong, and Callum had managed to rouse it perfectly.

Still, Torio looked strangely satisfied when she spoke again.

"Is that so, Lord Callum? Were you not aware then, perhaps, that the accused's legal counsel is, himself, Luskan, hailing from the Hosttower of the Arcane?"

Brianna went very, very cold.

From the corner of her eye she saw Sand moving backwards, all the color drained from his face.

_By the gods, he's going to walk right out the door if he keeps backpedaling like this. _

She ignored whatever the crowd was shouting now, grasping him sharply by the arm to get him to regain control of himself.

"Can you salvage this at all?" she asked him, barely aware that she was pleading. She watched the wild, cornered look fading as he considered the situation, though not completely.

"I am afraid she is actually telling the truth for once," he replied simply. "I will deny it if you wish, though this is unlikely to win back the crowd's favor."

"You should have told me," she stated the obvious, but then shoved her feelings about it to the back of her mind, that she might deal with them when her life did not depend on her ability to concentrate. The crowd's shouts and screams had reached new heights, and fists were shaken in both her own direction and Torio's.

_Mystra's breath, how to salvage this?_

And then she had an insight.

"Indeed," she shouted, trying to be heard at all above the deafening noise. The Cloaktower mage promptly cast his spell, giving her a nod. Evidently, he thought the room could do with calming.

"Indeed," she yelled again, her magically enhanced voice now cutting through the room with the efficiency of a bullwhip, "the rare pearl may sometimes be found in the dirtiest pigsty, this much is clear, ambassador."

Judging by Sand's expression, her lawyer had a difficult time deciding what to make of this particular analogy. Torio's smug expression did not waver. The crowd barely calmed.

"I am surprised though, nay, shocked to hear that you, yourself would so readily imply that Luskans are not to be trusted."

Torio's head whipped around so fast her short hair stood near horizontal for a second.

"I did not say any such thing!"

"True. You merely implied it, counting on the outrage from your statement to be so great that we all would overlook the fact that you validated Callum. He said Luskans cannot be trusted, and you pointed the finger and implied that for this very reason, my legal counsel cannot be trusted. So which is it, ambassador? Can Luskans be trusted, or can they not? Best make up your mind, because I am certain that we would all love to hear the answer to this from your very own lips."

She had gotten so caught up in pointing out the logical flaw in the ambassador's words that she had, for a moment, forgotten all about her anxiety. When she stepped back, nearly colliding with Sand in the process, she was shocked to hear enthusiastic, thunderous applause.

"That," Sand said into her ear, not even bothering to keep his voice down with all the noise, "was beautiful."

She gave him a look.

"Have you got any more deep, dark secrets I should know about?"

"No. None that Torio might dig up, anyway. I will explain the Hosttower matter to you in private later on, if you are willing to listen."

"I am." She gave him a wry half-smile. "Though the fact that you enjoy foiling Luskan plots so much should have given me a hint before now, really."

He patted her arm, directing her attention back to the witness stand, which Callum was leaving. Torio had, perhaps wisely so, dismissed him. The commander crossed the room to the slowly-fading applause roused by Brianna's inspired defense.

The adrenaline was pumping through her veins now, and she half-wished that she could have taken the stand there and then, to match Torio's wits with her own. But one witness was left to call up to the stand, and as Callum stepped outside, Sir Nevalle was already leading in Casavir.

The paladin had been the first to offer to testify for her, just after her arrest, when Brianna hadn't even been able to wrap her head around the trial. He was, after all, a paladin, incapable of committing acts of evil without falling from grace, and forbidden to lie by his holy code, and therefore, one of the most obviously reliable witnesses anyone could have wished for. Even after his support had wavered and he had refused to help her with the preparations, she knew he still saw it as his duty to be on the stand.

Besides, Casavir was one of the most morally upstanding people she knew. It would be more than difficult for Torio to goad him like she had done with Callum.

She did notice, however, that Casavir did not seem particularly pleased to be the focus of a crowd such as this. The uproar which Callum's testimony and its aftermath had caused still hadn't calmed all the way, and the paladin's face reflected his discomfort.

_Doesn't matter. His words might not be as eloquent as I hope, but they'll still be obviously true._

Sand, once more true to form, managed to slip in the fact that their newest witness was a paladin of Tyr four times in his opening statement and first question.

"You traveled with the accused during the month of Uktar, is this correct, honored paladin of the Maimed God?"

Torio rolled her eyes. Casavir, however, nodded.

"That is correct," he confirmed, speaking slowly, as though unsure of his words. "She rarely left my sight during these travels." It was surprising for Brianna to see him like this. Whatever words usually came to mind when trying to describe the paladin, _unsure_ was not one of them.

"We do have it on both Luskan and Neverwinter authority that the destruction of Ember happened between the twentieth and twenty-fifth of Uktar," Sand informed the crowd. "Could you, dedicated follower of Tyr, please inform us what you and the accused were doing between the twentieth and twenty-fifth of Uktar?"

Casavir talked for a very long time, answering that question. These days had been eventful, to be sure, but somehow, Casavir managed to make even Shandra's kidnapping and subsequent rescue sound relatively boring.

"I was hoping for a little more paladin charm," Sand confessed to Brianna in a murmur as the explanation went on and on. "Is there anything you could do to, er, inspire him, by chance?"

She gave him an incredulous stare. "Like what? Place myself in random mortal danger in the next twenty seconds so he can come to my rescue?"

"My dear girl, you _are_ in mortal danger in this courtroom."

"Yes, well, remind _him_, then. I'm perfectly aware of the fact, thank you very much," she hissed.

"Nevertheless," Sand started, but then interrupted himself, and Brianna realized that Casavir was finally finished.

"Thank you for this utterly informative description."

Sand, Brianna thought, probably couldn't even help himself. Even Casavir seemed to have realized that the words carried a note of sarcasm, and he frowned disapprovingly at the wizard, who completely ignored the look.

"Is the accused, in your opinion, capable of committing the crime which we are gathered here today to discuss?" It was probably sensible of Sand to phrase the question in such a way that a one-word answer was all that was needed.

"No," Casavir took the saving grace for what it was, the one word sounding far more powerful than anything he had said thus far.

"Then I have no further questions," Sand let the paladin off the hook.

Torio, however did not seem to possess the same compassion for Casavir's discomfort. It would have surprised Brianna if she had, but still, she wondered what Torio could possibly hope to gain by questioning the paladin. Casavir had chosen his words so far very carefully, and it wasn't like she could catch him in a lie.

"Tell me, noble paladin," the ambassador began, then stopped, quite obviously using theatrics to make whatever point she was about to make. Raising her right index finger, she tapped it against her lips repeatedly. "Well, this may be an odd request, certainly, but I find myself confused. From what I had heard, a man of your calling must meet the highest standards of integrity, which is, I assume, why the defense has asked you to testify here today."

Casavir's face remained blank. Brianna turned to Sand.

"She can't mean to question his status as a paladin, can she? I mean, it's obvious that he is a holy warrior, isn't it?"

Sand, looking tense, did not answer. Something churned in Brianna's gut, reminding her that it had been such a very long time since the roll she had eaten. She desperately wished for another intermission, preferably right this very minute, before Torio had a chance to make her point.

"Did you have a question, ambassador?" Judge Oleff inquired mildly. Brianna wondered whether the Lord Justiciar ever lost his composure.

"Forgive me, your honor." Torio cleared her throat, sounding perfectly innocent. "I was simply trying to express my confusion about the fact that a man who kills an innocent in a scandal-ridden duel and goes cavorting with the mistress of a well-known local brothel may call himself a paladin in this city."

The sudden cacophony that was the screams of the crowd rang in Brianna's ears. She thought the floor might have just been pulled out from under her, because according to her feet and sense of balance, it didn't seem to be there.

"Sand," she said, sounding strangled to her own ears. "_Sand!_"

"I know," he said, even though she was pretty sure he didn't know a damn thing just now. "By all the gods on Faerun, she must have been digging _very_ deep to find this."

Casavir, up on the stand, looked like he was about to break. Finally, it occurred to Brianna to turn her head and glance at the spot where she had last seen Ophala, but the woman was gone.

_What in the hells do I do now?_

"Objection," she finally called out, even though the Reverend Judge would have to read her lips to understand the words, and she hadn't a clue just now what her objection even consisted of.

"She got him finished," Sand said blankly, his voice just beating out the roaring in Brianna's ears, and she turned around just in time to see Casavir stumbling down the stairs of the stand, his face white, his eyes wide and unfocused. "She completely broke him. We'll have no choice but to let them suppress the entire testimony unless we can convince him to finish the cross-examination."

Brianna was certain there was no way she could get him to go back. Anything she said to try and get him to do so would only serve to make him run away faster.

"Let them suppress it, then," she said. Her mouth was dry.

Gods, this all needed to be over with.

_Later. Deal with it all later._

She looked down at her hands, buried in the silken layers of her green dress, sweating into and wrinkling the fabric.

"Tell them I'm ready to take the stand," she told the moon elf, feeling her chest tightening once more, constricting her breathing and making her head spin. "Don't waste any more time. Let's be done with this."


	64. Innocence

**Innocence**

"Why did you kill the people of Ember?"

The courtroom was silent. Brianna stared at the ambassador from high up on the witness stand, watching the woman pursing her lips, crossing her arms impatiently. She was pretty sure the ambassador knew Sand could have objected to the highly biased phrasing of the question, presuming her guilt, but she also knew Torio Claven would use that objection to accuse her of trying to weasel her way out of having to answer.

Her ears picked up the sounds of several people clearing their throats, the rustling of parchment as Sand once again reordered his notes. Beyond those little distractions, there was just the beating of her heart, ringing in her ears.

Torio Claven was underestimating Brianna's rhetorical ability. Granted, so far, she had not made a strong case for herself in the courtroom, letting Sand do most of the talking. The ambassador had posed her a question that was impossible for her to answer, expecting her to make a mess out of it. But, Brianna figured, for that very reason she could probably take this opportunity to say whatever she wanted just now, and have a fairly good chance of getting away with it. She grimly pressed her lips together. Her hands grasped the wooden rail blocking her way forward so tightly that her fingers might have hurt if she'd had any feeling left in them at all.

"Ambassador Claven," she said. Her voice came out dark and raspy, but she shook her head at the Cloaktower mage when he moved to cast his spell.

"Ambassador Claven," she tried again, this time sounding steady and strong. "One way that this court has traditionally attempted to solve difficult cases, and several times in the past has successfully done so, was to look at the crime that was committed and to ask who would have benefited from the deed. The case of Bertrand the Goatherd was a high-profile case that was resolved this way, fifteen years ago, and more recently, three years back, a minor case involving Luskan also implicated its guilty party solely through this approach, when Acurina the sorceress was found innocent of having stolen the newborn babe of a farmer across the border because she had no discernible motive, and instead, her half-sister later confessed the deed."

As she paused for breath, the ambassador was already interrupting.

"I did not realize I had asked for a history lesson."

"I was merely citing important precedent, ambassador, in order to be able to answer your question." Brianna swallowed hard. Judge Oleff had not yet reprimanded her, which was bound to be a good sign. "Surely you will understand that I am unable to give an answer of ten words or less for a question of such depth."

Torio Claven narrowed her eyes, but remained silent, instead staring expectantly along with what Brianna assumed was everyone else in the room. She didn't want to look, else her hard-won concentration would not last long.

"Today, many questions have been asked, but the one left untouched until this point is this: Who benefited from slaughtering the people of Ember? The ambassador, just now, has finally asked this question,wondering what motive I might possibly have had. It is my unfortunate duty to give her an answer that is bound to disappoint her. The truth is, I have no motive to speak of. I would gain nothing from committing this crime."

The room was more quiet than it had been during all of the trial. Certainly, if someone had dropped a pin onto the floor just now, the sound would have been perfectly audible all throughout the room. Brianna nervously ran her tongue across her dry lips before continuing.

"My record with the City Watch speaks for itself. I have protected the innocent and fought only those who attacked me first. I have never been known to gain pleasure from killing an innocent. I, myself, hail from a small place in the Mere of Dead Men, and I respect and admire those who grow up in a similar secluded village. There is no reason, none whatsoever, for me to turn around and kill the villagers of Ember."

"I think we've heard quite enough, thank you," Torio's cool voice reached her ears. The ambassador had stepped forward again, apparently ready to dismiss her.

"I wasn't finished," Brianna told her sweetly.

"You did ask the question, ambassador" Judge Oleff pointed out, calm as ever. "And she appears to be answering it to the best of her ability, so let her talk."

Scowling, Torio stepped back. Brianna thought it made her painted face look rather ugly. She tried to remember where she had left off.

"Of course, I might have been a pawn in some political game larger than myself." Brianna drew a deep breath, only too aware of how well she had to sell the next several sentences. "It is, after all, possible that I was acting under orders, or compulsion, if it was indeed I who committed this crime. I am a servant of Neverwinter, of course, and as such might have been following the orders of a superior, but this act of aggression against Luskan would in no way have served the city either. After all this time, Neverwinter is still recovering from the last war, the one which we all remember Luskan having a hand in, taking advantage of the plague which had been spread in Neverwinter to pillage and burn most of the city. There are still houses in ruins today, criminals on the loose, the Greycloak and City Watch forces spread thin as a direct result of what happened during that dark time. Given this weakened position, committing a crime that might start another war could not have been to Neverwinter's advantage at all."

Her recounting of the atrocities committed during the war had roused the crowd. Silent as they had been before, now the anti-Luskan sentiments had been stirred again, as there were few present in the courtroom who had not lost something or someone in the war. Brianna had studied the records of it all enough over the past months to know this with certainty.

"Luskan, of course, has been less than honest in their dealings with Neverwinter in the past. But shockingly, even they would not benefit from the start of another war, considering the fact that they have been entangled in struggles with Ruathym for months now. Even I would not think the Luskan leadership this dense, to assume that they might decide to fight wars on two fronts and think to win them both. Were that the case, Luskan would have fallen long ago."

Once again, the crowd was in motion. They had not expected her to acknowledge Luskan's lack of a motive in starting a war, and her words had caused another wave of confused murmurs echoing through the room. Brianna focused her eyes on Sand, the only one who knew perfectly well what she was doing.

"You may wonder now, thinking I've run out of people. Who else is there to blame, you might ask, and I am certain that there could be one person or another that could be found, with some tangled motive or another, but if there's one other thing I've learned in looking back at the past cases seen and solved before this court, then it is this pattern: the answer is always a simple one. The simple answer we are looking for here is this: the motive for this crime has nothing to do with starting a war at all. Given the problem of a wolf who has been making trouble for a hunter, the hunter might attempt to bring down the wolf, chasing it and shooting it with arrows. But if the wolf is too fast, and it evades arrow after arrow, the hunter will switch to a different strategy, and set a trap for the wolf."

She barely took time to breathe, thinking only that Bishop, if the ranger was in fact in the audience, might actually, in some far corner of his mind, enjoy this particular analogy.

"I am the wolf," she said. "Luskan is the hunter. The slaughter of Ember was the trap set to capture me, orchestrated by Luskan after their attempts to assassinate me failed. In my line of duty for the city of Neverwinter, I have foiled several Luskan plots. That is the trouble that I, the wolf, made for the city of Luskan, for Ambassador Claven and those working with her, and the reason why they sprung the trap at Ember, using the villagers as nothing but tools to be discarded in order to achieve my capture. _This_ is the motive we all were looking for, and this is what truly answers the ambassador's question about the _why_ of this terrible crime."

A breathless silence was followed by thunderous applause, an applause that never let up as she eventually descended the stand, feeling as though she might, possibly, have just saved her own life this night.

* * *

The tension drained from her like slowly trickling water from a leaky bucket during the time she spent waiting for the verdict. Once again she was sitting in a side room, this one apparently a study, with shelves of books lining the wall and warmth radiating out from the fireplace. With everything done, with the drama of the witness interrogations withstood and her speech delivered, Brianna now felt almost ridiculously tired. If she hadn't constantly reminded herself of the importance of the deliberations currently underway between Lord Nasher and the Reverend Judge Oleff, she might actually have fallen asleep.

Not that it would truly have mattered if she had, at this point. By now, the part of the proceedings she could have a direct influence on were over, and there was nothing she could do except wait.

The people around her seemed to be feeling much the same. Sand hung in an armchair like a limp rag, his hair flat and his face showing lines Brianna didn't think he'd had the day before. With the thumb and forefinger of one hand, he massaged his temples. Of the four men of her watchcloak guard, only one was still standing at attention, two of them leaning against the wall and the fourth actually crouching down on the floor, staring at the fire. If she'd been on duty, Brianna mused tiredly, she might actually have been forced to give them a lecture. Luckily though, it wasn't her problem.

The sound of boots walking on the stone floor was made by Sir Darmon, who was pacing. Brianna hoped he wouldn't stop, the annoying sound was one of the few things still keeping her awake.

Finally, one of the watchcloaks broke the silence.

"What's taking them so long?" It was a young but gaunt-looking fellow with a nose far too big for him who had spoken, one of the two leaning against the wall. He was fiddling with his sword belt, frowning at it as though blaming it for the long wait. "He can't honestly think to let Luskan off the hook, after all this. Nasher's got to see…"

"Nasher has got a lot of evidence to consider," Sir Darmon interrupted, giving the watchcloak a pointed look. "He will not rush a decision as important as this, no matter how much you may want to go to bed, watchman."

"This isn' about my bed at all, Sir," the watchman protested, his speech betraying a lower city upbringing. "'tis about the Lieutenant's honor, and that of all Neverwinter, Sir!" He straightened up at the words. Brianna gave the man a smile. It felt good to have people on her side, and proclaiming it loudly.

Sir Darmon looked to be considering the possible replies to this, but finally, he just gave the young man a short, gruff nod.

"I know, watchman," he said simply. "I know."

Mollified, the recruit leaned back once more and returned to brooding.

Brianna lifted her eyes to the gently flickering candle by the window. A marking and a half had melted away while they had waited, which meant it was certainly getting late. Yawning, she wondered how many of the spectators would wait out the verdict, and how many would choose to hear the news freshly rested in the morning. Maybe she should have felt flattered that half the city had been out on hold by her trial. _Butcher of Ember_ was already something the children played on the street. Rilien had told her as much, describing in detail the frustration of little Dory when she wasn't allowed to be the Butcher, despite being the only girl in the group of street rats she considered her family. She had been relegated to being butchered instead, dying, as Rilien had explained, by being drowned in the market square fountain and collecting fistfuls of coppers from the bottom of it for good measure. Nevertheless, _Butcher of Ember_ had not turned out to be Dory's favorite game.

_And I wanted to remain invisible, under the radar. Not working out so well for me, is it? _

Brianna made her face at the motionless form of Sand. For better or for worse, whether she lived or died people would know her now, either as the Butcher or as the wrongfully accused watchwoman of Neverwinter. She had best get used to the idea, until she managed to leave the place and make for foreign lands, at least. It could be a while until this happened.

Maybe never. The verdict was anything but a certainty.

She blinked, swallowed, and shook the thought loose that had lodged so tightly in her mind. She couldn't think like that. It would drive her insane.

"Does anyone have some food?" she asked into the silence, as much to distract herself as anything. Five heads turned to look at her – Sand was the only one who didn't react – and eventually Sir Darmon reached into a fold of his uniform and threw her an apple. She caught it easily, gave him a nod of thanks, and bit into the too green fruit. The sour sensation overwhelmed her tongue, but she chewed and swallowed nonetheless. She needed something in her stomach.

Just then, the sound of approaching steps caused the bit of apple to drop down her esophagus like a stone.

It was Sir Nevalle, accompanied by two court ushers, who entered the room and nodded gravely. The knight's disciplined face showed nothing apart from his usual strained expression, yet she knew that a decision had been reached. A moment later, she felt two pairs of hands grasping her arms and pulling her to her feet. She didn't protest. Sir Darmon had needed to help her before, and it _was_ ridiculously difficult for her to motivate herself to take a single step back in the direction of the courtroom.

Her dainty slippers made no sound on the marble tiles, but the boots of her escorts more than made up for it, a dreary rhythm that rang in her ears. Sand, catching up to her, took one look at her face and grasped her hand as they walked.

"You did well," he emphasized.

"Thanks," she said, trying to wet her dry mouth, "though it's not exactly what I'd like carved on my tombstone."

"I did well, too," he said, and it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself as much as her.

"That you did," she said, forcing a smile on her face once she realized that his thoughts weren't far out of line with hers. His face showed the strain of his burden only too clearly. Sand wouldn't forgive himself easily, if ever, if they lost today.

"Good luck to you, Lieutenant," one of the watchcloaks muttered. Brianna didn't turn in time to catch which one, but she gave all of them a nod before leaving them behind, waiting by the doors. She found herself once more subjected to the crowds, finding herself stared at by so many pairs of eyes. Quite consciously, she avoided those of Ambassador Claven.

"Good luck, Squire Storm," said Sir Darmon, for the first time using what was actually Brianna's correct form of address, with her no longer being on active duty for the Watch. He stepped aside as well, and she once more took her spot near the podium next to Sand. It was all she could do to keep herself from clutching the moon elf's hand. She searched the crowd, desperate to see a familiar face, but this time, only strangers stared back. She had no idea where any of her friends were, or whether the girls from the Moonstone Mask and the greycloaks of Old Owl Well were still here, but she yearned to have them all next to her just now. Somewhere deep inside her chest, she felt a dull hurt, a feeling of utter discomfort that would not go away.

Maybe it was fear. She wasn't sure of anything just now.

As Lord Nasher ascended the steps to the dais from which he would proclaim his judgment, Brianna watched his face carefully, and her heart sank. Neverwinter's hierarch should have been glad to return her freedom to her, but he did not look the part. His jaw was set, his face a mask of barely suppressed fury. His eyes, when he turned to address the crowd, looked ready to murder.

Gods, did he actually think her guilty? After everything they had gone through to prove the Luskan involvement? Brianna bit her lip without even being aware she was doing it until she tasted blood. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sand's entire body stiffening. The wizard had noticed it too.

"This is my judgment," the words of the hierarch of Neverwinter echoed through the hall, "which I have made, of sound mind and loyal to the truth, to the best of my ability, to uphold the sacred laws of our city of Neverwinter."

The words were scripted, Brianna knew this from the many court transcripts she had studied. It was the same proclamation made during any judgment, but still the crowd listened with collectively bated breath. Nasher's next words, however, made her frown, and sent a murmur of unrest through the crowd.

"This judgment, meant to be beyond reproach, has been questioned today by the ambassador of Luskan."

"Oh _hells_," muttered Sand.

Brianna whipped her head around, staring at him. "Sand?" she asked urgently.

"She must have known she was losing, caught him just before deliberations. Gods, I was hoping she wouldn't know about it."

"_Sand?_" she asked again, her voice sounding near hysterical to her own ears. "_What_ is happening?"

But Nasher was already speaking again.

"Hear, citizens of Neverwinter, my judgment, though it is not the final judgment of this day."

As he paused for dramatic effect, Sand stepped closer to Brianna, his mouth near her ear as the elf hastily explained what he could.

"There is a subclause in the treaty, the oldest Luskan-Neverwinter treaty, which was never completely invalidated by the new one. If you recall the current treaty, it proclaims all points of the old treaty invalid which conflict with those of the new treaty. And the old treaty had a similar declaration, referring to the treaty before that one, and _that_ treaty had a subclause never conflicted by either of the newer treaties, mostly forgotten about, because nobody ever used it for anything as it is very specific. She's invoking that subclause."

Brianna's head spun. "If you knew about the subclause, why didn't you…?"

"There was _nothing_ I could have done except hope she didn't know about it."

Brianna was about to ask what in the hells the subclause was about, but the elf put his index finger to his lips and indicated the dais. The Reverend Judge Oleff had stepped next to Lord Nasher, as though lending the authority of his position to underline the validity of the judgment. As she listened, Brianna 's heart hammered against her ribcage as though trying to escape the confines of her chest. She thought her ribs might actually bruise.

"The case of Ember was a tragic one, and the decision not one I took lightly. Nevertheless, it is now clear to me what transpired at Ember, and with this knowledge, I find the accused, the Neverwinter Squire Brianna Storm, innocent of all charges brought against her this day."

The noise that erupted in the courtroom was deafening. Brianna felt herself grabbed squarely round the shoulders and half-suffocated in the flowing robes of her lawyer. Part of her felt elated, hearing these words she had hoped to hear for months, but the feeling of joy and relief was cheapened.

"The subclause?" she nearly screamed into his ear so he'd have a chance of actually hearing her.

"Questioning the authority of a Neverwinter judge in fairly ruling over a case involving a violent crime of a Neverwinter agent against Luskan," Sand yelled back. "Specifically, a Neverwinter agent who has served the city in active field duty."

Her mind processed while she raised her head and glanced over Sand's shoulder, watching as the watchcloaks once more attempted to return some semblance of order to the courtroom.

"So because I was a watchwoman patrolling the streets, she says Nasher's judgment can't be trusted?"

She felt the movement of Sand's head next to hers as the moon elf nodded. Carefully, he let her go, stepping back and brushing off his robes as though afraid she might have gotten dust on them. Batons were still at work in keeping the crowd from climbing over the balustrade, and from the corner of her eye, Brianna saw the Cloaktower mage cast his voice enhancement spell for what was probably the twentieth time that night.

"_Silence!_" Nasher's voice boomed through the hall like a thunderclap. The noise dwindled, but did not cease.

"This day, my judgment has been questioned by the ambassador of Luskan, and she has appealed to a higher authority to confirm or deny my judgment, as is her right."

Here, Lord Nasher turned to the Reverend Judge, who nodded, as though the two of them had made some secret agreement.

"Should the judgment be confirmed, it will stand as I spoke it, with the Neverwinter Squire Brianna Storm innocent of all charges brought against her. It is also my conviction that the Luskan Ambassador, her retinue, and the Hosttower of the Arcane in Luskan are responsible for framing a loyal servant of Neverwinter of this gruesome deed, and for this reason, should my judgment stand, I will require them all to leave the city by nightfall, never to return to make a mockery of a Neverwinter court again."

Now, Brianna did glance at the ambassador. She couldn't help but wonder about the look on Torio Claven's face as Lord Nasher called her a fraud and in league with murderers in front of an entire courtroom, and she was not disappointed. Torio's expression was thunderous.

Now, the one remaining question was, which higher authority had Torio appealed to? Neverwinter was a city state, with Lord Nasher as its ruler. There was no higher authority, unless…

This time it was the Reverend Judge Oleff who stepped forward.

"The accused, and her accuser, Squire Brianna Storm and Ambassador Torio Claven, will hereby submit themselves to the most holy authority of the God of Justice, Tyr himself, who will bring to light the truth of this matter in a Trial of Combat."

The crowd, once more, made it impossible for Brianna to hear anything. The ambassador's facial expression had changed again now, she was looking at Brianna like the proverbial cat eying a cornered barn mouse. Her thin lips were stretched into a smile that showed very clearly who the ambassador thought would win this Trial by Combat.

But it all didn't make sense. Once more Brianna pulled Sand close, shouting in his pointed ear.

"I have to fight her in a duel? _Her?_"

"She will pick a champion," Sand replied, and then his hands grabbed her dress as though he needed something to hold on to.

She twisted away from him to look. Someone had appeared next to the ambassador, a mountain of a man clad in full plate mail, and as he turned and looked at her with deep-set dark eyes, all feeling left her body.

"I will champion the ambassador, and the people of Ember," announced the man named Lorne to the entire courtroom.


	65. Reflection

**Reflection**

She felt numb as she was escorted from the castle in the dead of night.

A duel to the death was not the way Brianna had expected her fate to be decided. It made things simple enough, she supposed – either she killed the true Butcher of Ember and proved her innocence in the same stroke, or else, he killed her and then guilt or innocence would no longer matter to her.

After all the work she had done with Sand, after the weeks of preparation and the perils of gathering evidence up north, the only answer to Torio Claven's contingency plan turned out to be her sword. Brianna pressed her lips together, considering the irony.

Her guard no longer consisted of four watchcloaks but of ten, three walking before her, three guarding her back, and groups of two by her side. She knew at least two of them as fellow Lieutenants. There was also Sir Nevalle, hand firmly on the hilt of his sword as he led the cluster of people through the broad streets of the Blacklake district. Now that the truth of the Luskan plot was out in the open, nobody seemed to want to chance another assassination attempt.

But to face that brute of a man in single combat? To have to rely on her swordsmanship, after her nerves hadn't allowed her to get a good night's sleep in days, after she hadn't even had anyone train her properly since Bishop had left? It was not a fair fight.

She would get the night, Nevalle had told her. One short night to prepare herself, with the Trial by Combat starting at sunrise. It was not a lot of time to make adjustments, especially as she would have to complete the ritual called the Rite of Tyr this night, which came with all sorts of restrictions. She was not even supposed to sleep. Granted, Brianna didn't think she could, with thoughts racing in her head, but it was the principle of the matter that irked her. She was certain Lorne had not spent the past several nights being kept awake by his fears.

At least it was winter. The sun would rise late.

They passed into the Merchant quarter after long minutes of marching, and soon afterwards, Brianna found herself once more face to face with the Temple of Tyr, its facade looking even more austere now than it did in the daylight.

"The priests of Tyr will assist you in your preparations," Nevalle informed her, falling into step at her right. "The Rite of Tyr is one of prayer and contemplation, but I believe you will be allowed visitors, should you chose to welcome them."

Brianna doubted she would do any praying this night. Tyr would either let justice be done, or she would curse the Maimed God straight to the nine hells with her dying breath. She doubted prayer would much influence the god's actions. If Casavir so desired, he could be the one doing the praying to his patron deity. No, Brianna would spend her time reflecting on everything Cormick and Bishop and anyone else she had ever seen in a fight had taught her about combat, trying to come up with something resembling a strategy.

* * *

The problem was, she realized as she sat cross-legged on the floor of one of the temple's side rooms a while later, that her mind was absolutely blank. She'd been doing so much thinking, had put herself under so much pressure, and she felt spent.

The granite statue of Tyr towered over her, the unchanging facial expression indicating that the god considered these mortal matters entirely beneath him, and it didn't exactly help. The whole room was terribly dreary, with the only light coming from the fireplace located halfway down one long wall, with the floor and the walls and even the ceiling made of granite that matched the statue, and with absolutely no other furniture - apparently in order to discourage any semblance of comfort. At this rate, her muscles would be beyond stiff in the morning.

Darkly, Brianna stared at the statue and wished all Tyrrans straight to the hells.

She hoped someone would think to bring her swords and armor soon. There had been no time for extensive instructions as they had separated her from Sand and led her away, but she hoped it was obvious enough to anyone who knew her that she would need them. And Lorne… gods, how could she possibly manage to beat him? Her fingers felt clammy as she twisted them together in her lap.

"Lass?" asked a familiar voice.

She turned, then jumped up, wanting to hug Duncan and stopping short when she realized that her uncle had his arms full with her equipment. Neeshka, next to him, was carrying even more, and so she waited until they had laid it all in a pile on the floor before putting her arms first around one, then the other.

"Khelgar not with you?" she wanted to know. She would have expected the dwarf to be one of the first to show up at the temple.

Neeshka shook her head. "Things got a little crazy after the verdict. Dunno if you saw it, since they escorted you out so quickly, but quite a few people tried to get to the ambassador. Mostly drunkards, I think. Anyway, the watchcloaks had their hands full, and we were all pushed out the doors pretty quickly. Quite a stir."

"We lost the others somewhere in the crowd. Figure they'll make their way here eventually, though," Duncan added. "Shandra should be here in a bit with your armor."

She nodded. It was a small comfort to hear that they all did care.

"Gods be with you," Duncan muttered then, putting his hand on her shoulder again, and she frowned. Her uncle was not a pious man, and she hardly thought it was a character trait that needed changing.

"The gods have better things to do, I think." She squeezed his hand and stepped back, taking in the redness of Neeshka's eyes, and the deep worry lines around her uncle's mouth. "This is all on me."

"We should have gotten out of here when our chances were better," Neeshka opined. "Too many guards around this place now, blast it all. But you do have a plan?"

She sounded a little too eager. Brianna shrugged.

"I'll come up with something." She knew she didn't sound convincing. She couldn't even manage to convince herself, but hells, she was fresh out of options.

"Lass…" Duncan half-stretched out his arm for her, then helplessly let it sink back down.

Brianna put his feelings into words for him. "I know you want to help. I wish you could, too, but you've done all you can." She nodded at her equipment. "Thank you."

She would have liked nothing better than for the two of them to stay all night, to distract her from what was to come in the morning, but she could not afford to waste the time. There was no way at all that she could fight Lorne like she might fight another watchman in the practice court, like she had fought githyanki and assassins and so many others. The man was a giant, one of his thighs already as thick as her waist. He would squash her like a bug. She needed to think, to come up with a pile of brilliant ideas to use against him.

"I could poison his soup," Neeshka offered even as she backed out of the room. "Sabotage his equipment. Whatever you need."

Brianna shook her head a little sadly. "He'd kill you, Neesh," she said what both of them already knew. "But thanks. Maybe another time."

"If he kills you, I _will_ come after him," the tiefling promised darkly, and vanished beyond the doorway.

Brianna sank back to the floor. She felt so utterly drained.

Her swords in their sheaths were laying atop the pile of pieces of various pouches, padding and underclothes. It appeared that Neeshka and Duncan had simply raided her room and grabbed everything in sight that they thought could possibly be of help to her. Her boots were missing, however. She had left them at the Moonstone Mask, meaning to come back for them when she changed out of the fancy dress back into her regular breeches and tunic. She would either have to have someone fetch them or procure new ones before the morning.

_Lorne._ The fear was bubbling in the pit of her stomach, anxiety trying to take her over. She knew he would be many times stronger than her, likely able to crush her with one hand, and that her speed was the only asset she had to pit against him. How exactly she had best use that speed, however, she had no idea.

"Hells," she whispered, and stared at the pile of equipment before her. She knew she should at least have taken up her swords and done a few light drills, but she felt as though petrified. The flickering light radiating out from the fireplace was her only companion as she sat there in the middle of the cold, bare room, unable to get it together, wanting nothing more than for it all to be over.

She wondered whether anyone else would even show up to see her, apart from Shandra. Khelgar and Rilien might, and she would likely have to send them all away as well, since they could not help her with her thinking. She would regret having to do it, too. It was a tempting thought to simply have Rilien hold her for the night, soothe her fears and carry her over until the morning.

Movement in the doorway caused her to lift her head, shaking loose curls from her face. Then she stared, disbelieving, wondering what she had done to deserve this next visitor.

"Good evening, squire of mine," Sir Grayson Corett greeted her.

The knight was wearing glittering chainmail armor that she doubted had ever seen battle. As she had come to notice before, everything about him was neat, not a hair out of order.

"I don't know about that," she said in reply. "'Bad night' seems a better fit."

"Are you so afraid to see battle?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. It was tempting to point out that it was probably smart to be afraid of fighting someone who could likely kill her with his bare hands without even breaking a sweat. Yet she managed to hold her tongue. She was desperately trying to avoid a lecture, because that would put her right to sleep, and she couldn't let that happen. There was too much to think through this night.

"I would have preferred not to let it get this far," she tried for a neutral answer.

He strolled into the room like he owned it, back straight, chin proudly raised. "A prudent answer, my squire, but you must know that in our line of work, battle is not easily avoided."

She wanted to take the unfailingly shiny chain shirt off his torso and slap him silly with it. The last time Sir Grayson Corett had seen battle, he had probably been standing in a practice court. She did not need this sort of useless advice just now, or ever. The more words came out of his mouth, the more difficult it was for her to remember that she owed her halfway fair trial to him.

"I see," she said vaguely. Her mind worked quickly, trying to find an excuse to send him out of the room, because she could tell by the frown of concentration he was wearing that he was about to launch into some inane monologue about how to die with honor, or some such nonsense. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirts. Her mind was empty. The day had been too long.

As it turned out, the person to save her from the knight in shining armor was a not-quite knight in armor that was admittedly rather dull. Brianna couldn't find the time to savor the irony.

"May I have a word?" asked Casavir from the doorway.

Sir Grayson wheeled around, apparently startled. "Who are you?" he demanded to know, as though it was a random beggar who had just stumbled upon the temple and asked for an audience.

"He is one of my companions," Brianna explained sweetly. "Come with dire news, I expect, so if it does not trouble you overmuch, Sir Knight, I shall need a moment alone to speak with him."

The knight straightened up even more, if such a thing was possible. "Of course," he said. Brianna knew he was far too bound by his own code of honor to refuse her request, and she waited silently for him to make his way outside.

"I shall wait to continue our conversation until your talk with your companion is finished," he announced, as thought anyone had expressed their doubts about it. Brianna waited until his steps faded before relaxing her shoulders and slumping forward.

"I know you didn't mean to do it," she said into the sudden silence, "but thank you for getting him out of my hair."

The paladin nodded. He looked utterly exhausted, she noticed, with deep circles under his eyes, his lips set in a tight line and his entire body moving as though it carried the weight of a mountain. Little wonder, too. She hadn't had the time to consider his feelings overmuch after his past had been spread out so gleefully by the ambassador, but now she was fairly sure that in his place, she would have found a nice hole to crawl into, never to see the light of day again.

"I am sorry about what happened at the trial." Best to get it out of the way. She peered at his face, trying to catch a reaction. "Are you alright?"

After a lengthy, painful silence, his steel blue eyes met hers.

"You shame me, my lady," he said bitterly.

She had no clue what he meant by that. "Sorry?"

"You shame me. My indiscretions, and my cowardice, cost you my testimony, and yet you act as though I am deserving of your concern."

She closed her eyes. Oh hells. She did not have the patience to deal with Paladin insecurities.

"Cas," she said tiredly, "a better man than you would have fled the room after what Torio said. I'm not blaming you for it. Please."

She was probably doing a good job of reinforcing his odd impression of her as half a saint. However, much as the paladin had avoided her lately, she still couldn't find the energy to be angry at him. He'd made mistakes, just as every other sentient being in Faerun, and it wasn't his fault that the ambassador had managed to dig up his dark past so thoroughly.

"I would like to explain," he told her earnestly, "though I do not wish to take up your precious time this night."

That, she did appreciate. It was more considerate than Sir Grayson had been, anyway. She did want to know the truth of this sordid revelation that had caused such an upheaval in her trial.

"Once this is all over," she promised him, forcing a smile. "Once this is over, we'll have to have a long talk." She'd be looking forward to it too, if he was actually blunt with her for once.

He stepped forward and knelt, reaching for her hands. Surprised, she let him take them. His aura washed over and through her, calming the nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach, taking away the throbbing pain of the tension headache she hadn't even realized she had.

"Yes," he agreed simply. "Once this is over."

They remained like this, almost frozen, for a long moment. The paladin's blue eyes darted across her face as though he wanted to say more, but could not find the motivation, or the words. Brianna waited, unsure what to say to get him to leave, but at the same time not minding his touch.

"If you'd like to do me a favor," she said eventually, certain he would jump at the opportunity, "try to get the knight off my back. He'll talk my ear off all night, given the chance, and I really can't afford to waste any time on it."

Casavir straightened up, a hint of a smile on his face.

"It would be an honor."

She watched him from her sitting position, regretting the loss of his aura as he stood and moved away from her. Her limbs felt heavy again. At least her head remained clear, however.

"I will pray for you," he told her what she had expected of him in the first place, pausing in the doorway. "I will pray for justice. I know it may not mean much to you…"

With a shake of her head, she got him to trail off.

"It can't hurt," she voiced her opinion of prayer diplomatically. "Beyond that, I do appreciate the thought."

She buried her face in her hands as he left. Things were still awkward between them, so much unsaid, with the paladin never opening up or sharing his burdens, and Brianna having run out of patience so long ago. She didn't know whether this talk would actually help, but, for whatever reason, she was willing to give him the chance. It was a start, maybe.

Sometimes she thought she would quite like being around Casavir if not for the constant unyielding, impenetrable Paladin façade. Other times, she thought she might scream if she had to endure his presence for much longer. The dichotomy was annoying, and one of the reasons why she generally stayed away. She had enough to deal with, and as long as Casavir was willing to don his armor and march into battle for her, her energy was better spent elsewhere.

Despite the fire, the room seemed to be growing colder. She was not sure whether the last remains of the paladin's aura were just now withdrawing from her, or whether it was the tiredness taking over her body that caused her to shiver and wish for a blanket in which to wrap herself. It _was_ still winter, and she was sitting on a plain stone floor, thanks to the servants of Tyr deciding that she wasn't allowed to be comfortable on what might be her final night. The fact that she was wearing a flimsy, ruffled silk dress helped the matter little.

She sighed, pulled her knees to her chest and tilted her head up to look at the statue. It was one of the less gruesome depictions of the god of justice. The artist had chiseled a blindfold over the empty eyesockets, and the stump of the god's right hand was hidden in the folds of his cloak. Brianna wondered whether his disabilities were the reason for Tyr's severity. She might not have much of a sense of humor left either, if she'd been maimed like this.

"Brianna?" a voice she hadn't heard in a while asked from the doorway at her back. Her ears had not picked up the sound of footsteps, but then again, she had not been paying attention.

"Hello, Cormick." She found that her throat was starting to feel raw. Too much loud speaking this day.

The marshal remained silent for a moment. She thought she knew why he had shown up, and voiced her guess.

"You recognized him, didn't you?" she asked plainly. She had been trying to avoid thinking of this.

More silence.

"Yes," he said then, as though hating to have to say it.

Brianna closed her eyes. Lorne Starling. Harborman, son of Retta Starling, brother of Bevil Starling. Lost during the war. Taken by Luskan. Now, apparently, committed to the enemy.

"You recognized him too." It was a statement, not a question.

"At first, no," she admitted. "Until just now, I wasn't sure." It had been the eyes, those deep-set, dark eyes she had recognized when he had looked at her for just one short moment. Some part of her had expected them to carry a hint of earnest puzzlement, as Bevil's always had. Instead, she had found blind, seething hatred, an emotion like none she had ever seen in the eyes of Bevil Starling. She wondered how Lorne had learned to hate like that.

"I shouldn't have said anything." Cormick sounded regretful. Maybe he thought it would put more of a burden on her to have to fight a fellow harborman. Brianna was long past caring, however, and after everything Lorne had done, it would be a privilege if she got to cut his belly open with her swords. Bevil hadn't known his brother in years. She doubted he would be particularly fond of what Lorne had become, anyway.

For the first time, she turned to actually look at Cormick, pivoting on the floor and leaning back onto her stretched out arms.

"You've fought him," she said then. Another statement. She'd heard the story more than once.

"Gods." Cormick rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, beginning to pace. "In the harvest brawl. With _clubs._ Years ago."

"How'd you win?"

He still looked reluctant to answer, and she certainly did not have the patience for it.

"Cormick!" she snapped. "I _need_ to know this."

"I made him angry," the marshal sighed, turning on his heels and walking the length of the room. "That's all it was, Brianna, I just insulted him until he was blind with rage and charged at me. He's got a short temper, or at least he used to. Smashed his club right into the fencepost because I ducked in time, and then I got him in the back of the head and he went down. It was a _trick_ I used, and I was damn lucky it worked. That's all. No fancy fighting techniques. I just knew he was stronger than me, I knew his weakness was his temper, and I used it."

Her heart sank. She had hoped he would be able to tell her something more, something that would help her in the arena. _Leave it to Cormick to be useless_, she thought bitterly, climbing to her feet and stretching her knotted muscles.

"That's not the way Georg tells that story," she pointed out for good measure. Cormick tensed at her tone, stopping in his step.

"Well, Georg's a fool."

They were both silent for a long moment, staring at each other.

"You've got to beat him," he said then, suddenly passionate, as though ordering her to do it might help. "You've _got_ to, Brianna." With two steps, he had reached her and taken her by both arms, and with a sudden feeling of horror she realized he wanted to kiss her. He didn't, though. Instead he just stared at her, his hazel eyes burning with a passion she'd never known he had.

"You know I won't last five minutes in a straight-up fight," she told him through clenched teeth what he should damn well know already, having trained with her for so long. It was a desperate attempt to get his mind back to the matter at hand, away from his unwelcome feelings.

"If you're planning to make this a straight-up fight," said a caustic voice from the doorway, "you're even more stupid than I thought."

She turned as soon as Cormick let her go.

"I wasn't," she said simply.

Bishop, leaning casually against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow.

She crossed her arms, staring at him, wondering what in the hells he was doing here. She hadn't seen him in days, or spoken with him since before their return to Neverwinter. He looked a little rough around the edges, his eyes red-rimmed, his hair greasy. He didn't appear to have bothered with shaving lately, either.

"She'll beat the bastard," Cormick opined. "She'll do it." He didn't sound nearly as sure as Brianna might have wished.

Bishop raised his right hand, which, Brianna suddenly realized, was holding a dark bottle.

"Maybe," the ranger said thoughtfully, and took a swig.

"I don't think the Tyrrans allow alcohol in their sacred temple," Cormick pointed out. The marshal's voice betrayed his irritation, and Brianna wondered whether he had hoped to spend more time alone with her.

"I don't think I give a shit," Bishop replied evenly, and drank again.

Cormick stared, disapproving. Brianna's head swiveled between the two of them, wondering whether she would spend her Rite breaking up some stupid fight of male blustering just because Cormick had delusions of romance and Bishop was his usual obnoxious self.

"Nice speech though, at the end," the ranger told Brianna then, as though only now remembering what he had been meaning to say. She caught a slight slur in his words. "Almost got me thinking you might actually make it out in one piece."

"Thought you might like it." She didn't move an inch. The knots in her belly reminded her that she shouldn't be wasting time on banter. Still, the ranger was one person who might actually be able to help her with that, if she could get him to do it. "And I might still make it out in one piece."

"Maybe," Bishop said again. "My bet's on two though. Head. Body." He separated the two words with careless hand gestures, splashing droplets of liquid onto the floor in the process and then squinting at them as though wondering where they had come from. "I had my money on hanging, though it seems that's out of the question now."

"Sorry to disappoint you." She narrowed her eyes at Cormick, who appeared to want to put the other man in his place, shaking her head, then turning back to the ranger. "How would you do it?" she asked bluntly. "How would you beat Lorne?"

Bishop closed his eyes. For a moment, she thought he might actually be falling asleep standing, but then he took a deep breath, and spoke again.

"Personally, I'd make damn sure to put a quiverful of arrows through his throat before he could even reach me. You're not that good a shot, but you could still do some decent damage with that crossbow of yours. Worst case, it'll at least piss him off."

"That'll make him even more dangerous," Cormick disagreed sharply. "If you heard what I said about him, you should know that the fencepost he crashed into was in splinters by the time he was through with it. He reaches Brianna, and she'll drop after a single attack. Rage stops him from thinking things through, maybe, but it makes him strong, almost inhumanly so."

"So she'll need to stay out of his reach." Bishop shrugged, as though it should all be obvious. "I've seen it happen before, both in men and in animals. They're angry or in pain, their mind blanks out, they waste a lot of energy on rage and anger, and eventually, they get tired. That's when you strike."

"And how in the hells am I going to stay away from him?" Brianna demanded to know. "It's an arena. There's not exactly a lot of places to hide."

"Well, you can't expect me to solve all your problems," the ranger shrugged. "But, you know, an alchemist just might."

_Sand._ Brianna knew a lot could be done with magic, and as Nevalle had informed her, she was allowed two vials of potions during her Trial by Combat. She wasn't sure when Bishop had turned into such a strategically brilliant bastard. If it had been anyone but him – anyone looking like they'd _bathed_ lately - she'd have gone for a hug.

"Thank you," she told him instead, meaning it.

He only shrugged and drank.

"Didn't have anything better to do," he said. "Odds aren't exactly in your favor right now, anyway."

She frowned, not understanding. "Odds?"

"Bookmakers," he elaborated. "Most people think the Luskan's going to cut you in half. Mind you, they're probably right."

"You already said that." Oddly, his words had managed to rouse what was left of her fighting spirit. She crouched and dug through the pile before her, laying her crossbow aside, reaching for her weapons belt. She needed to remind her body of the drills it would need, of the attacks and counters she could use against someone much stronger and bigger than her. "I'll need someone to practice with."

"Right, right." Cormick frantically ran his hands through his hair, unsheathing his sword. "Your defense is decent enough, in case he does reach you. You may be able to use his speed against him if he charges, it's a neat trick, here…"

The marshal unsheathed his sword and waited for her to take her position, babbling all the while. He really was worried sick, Brianna realized. She stepped out of her slippers, walking barefoot on the cold stone floor as she tied her weapons belt around her waist. Her skirts swished around her legs, expensive silk that probably wouldn't make it through the night. The thought didn't bother her.

Cormick showed her the side-step and underhand swipe with her sword he wanted her to master. He hadn't even finished his explanation before the ranger stalked over, grabbed Brianna's wrist, and forcefully pulled her away.

"That's the oldest damn trick in the book, and there's no way in the nine hells someone like Lorne's going to fall for it," he snarled. "He'll slice you right through the middle if you try." His half-rotten alcohol-laced breath made Brianna recoil.

"Well I don't see you making a better suggestion," the marshal exploded, roaring back at the ranger.

Bishop glared. "Move," he snapped then, elbowed Brianna aside, set his bottle down on the floor and motioned for Cormick to attack him. As the marshal did, Bishop performed the same maneuver Cormick had just tried to teach her, but instead of finishing the expected underhand swing, Bishop flung himself to the ground. At first Brianna thought he'd actually lost his balance, but then his foot hooked itself around Cormick's ankle, and the marshal went tumbling down. His sword clattered away.

"Lorne's going to know the counter to that useless first move, so this is what you do." Bishop got back to his feet with surprising ease and motioned for her to come closer. "Use his momentum against him. He'll draw back after he swings at you, that's how you know when to trip him. It'll work because his own weight will drag him down."

Cormick was still on the floor.

"That's one hell of a risk," the marshal opined, blinking heavily. "How are you so sure he'll even know to counter her?"

Bishop narrowed his eyes, crouching calmly by the wall as he picked up his drink once more. "Because he's from the Circle of Blades, and they'll have him properly trained, as opposed to certain fools of the city watch who think they know it all but wouldn't last five seconds against anyone who actually knows what they're doing."

Brianna saw the marshal's face darken, and moved to prevent the blowout. No matter how bruised Cormick's ego might be, she didn't have the luxury of playing nursemaid. At the rate they were going, Bishop's patience would soon run out, and she could not let that happen. His unexpected appearance at her Rite of Tyr was something she had to take advantage of for as long as he let her.

In a second, she was by Cormick's side, clapping a hand over the mouth he had just opened for a reply.

"Cormick," she said, her voice strong. "He's the best fighter I know. I need his help. I'd like yours too, but you need to shut up and stop questioning him, or else I can't have you stay."

She watched as his eyes moved to stare into hers, as he considered her words. Carefully, she took her hands away.

"Alright." He sighed, as though resigned. "If that's what you think you need to do, fine."

"It is," she confirmed.

Bishop stumbled a bit as he got to his feet again, but miraculously, the ranger still didn't appear to have run out of patience for teaching and never demanded payment. Maybe the alcohol was actually making him nicer, Brianna reflected. For the next hour or so, she practiced what he had shown her, along with two other moves the two men agreed would be useful against Lorne in the morning. Cormick managed to keep quiet and ignore the occasional insult Bishop threw his way, and the ranger, despite being drunk, remained surprisingly limber and lucid and didn't once try to peek beneath her skirts, which was probably the most impressive bit of it. Brianna herself threw all of the focus and concentration she had remaining into learning the moves that might just save her life the next day. She did not allow herself a break until another visitor arrived in the temple.

"You lot are making so much noise, I thought looters had gotten into the temple," Shandra commented, carefully placing the pieces of Brianna's leather armor onto the ground. "Despite all the guards. Though I should have known you wouldn't be sitting here praying, like they want you to."

"Looters?" Brianna frowned at the woman, lowering her sword and relaxing her muscles. She would have to be careful not to overexert herself. Her arms would not be of any use to her in the morning if they felt heavy as lead.

"You hadn't heard?" Shandra took a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall. "Your trial caused quite an uproar. People are angry. The streets still aren't calm, that's why it took me so long to get here. Half of Blacklake's been vandalized, and it's spilling over into the Merchant district."

Cormick made a face.

"I should be out there, " the marshal muttered. "Hells."

"They just brought in the Many-Starred Cloaks when I passed through," Shandra elaborated, leaning forward. "I imagine they will help a lot in getting things to quiet down. There's little you could do out there right now, and I imagine Brianna needs you here."

"He's helped a lot," Brianna acknowledged.

Bishop snorted, dropping to the floor and raising his drink of what Brianna had found out was cheap whiskey to his mouth. "Damn," he said then, and tossed the empty bottle away. It cluttered across the stone floor and came to a stop near the foot of Tyr's statue.

"Can I help?" Shandra wanted to know.

Brianna considered it for a moment. "Actually, yes,"she said then. "I shouldn't keep pushing myself tonight, else I won't even be able to move tomorrow in the arena. If you have one of them teach you the same moves they taught me, I might be able to keep picking them up by watching."

It was a longshot, but she had noticed during her many previous training sessions with Cormick and Shandra that watching someone else did help her internalize the muscle movements. It was better than nothing, anyway.

Shandra was game. Cormick as well was willing to keep working hard, but Bishop, blinking heavily and not entirely steady on his feet any longer, shook his head.

"I need a break," the ranger muttered, more to himself than to anyone. "And more whiskey." He dropped to the floor next to Brianna, half-laying there. She ignored him in favor of concentrating on Cormick's teaching.

Watching him with Shandra, Brianna thought her life would be a lot easier if these two just fell in love with each other and got married and had lots of burly children. Shandra certainly seemed to yearn for a family, and Cormick needed an outlet for his romantic feelings that wasn't Brianna. The marshal, however, appeared to be oblivious to Shandra's semi-obvious interest.

Staring, she followed along, imagining each of her muscles doing the work they would have to do if she were in combat, facing Lorne. She would not have the luxury of time then to figure out how to move, her body would have to know on its own. It was half the reason why she spent so much time practicing endless drills.

"She's even more shit at this than you were," Bishop noted.

Brianna frowned, her eyes traveling to Shandra's form as the woman tried again, making a mistake Brianna spotted right away.

"What, at fighting? She is getting better," Brianna said fairly. In fact, considering how little Shandra had known of the sword, she had made quite impressive progress. Currently though, the woman seemed to be trying to flirt with Cormick, which diminished her ability to pay attention.

"She's still shit."

Bishop, apparently, was growing bored with being a happy drunk and was back to his favorite hobby of needling people. _Big surprise_, she thought. This wasn't the time for Shandra to hear debilitating comment about her own abilities, though. Brianna needed the woman to keep focusing.

"What do you think of my chances?" she wanted to know, if only to distract the ranger.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him open his mouth, close it again, then open it once more. Then he squinted at her.

"Not much," he said finally.

"It's so lovely when people believe in me," she told him dreamily.

He had sat up, elbows on his knees, snorting when he heard her words.

"You think too much."

He had told her that before - shouted it, actually, during several of their training sessions. She still had no idea what he meant by it. Yes, her mind worked overtime while fighting, analyzed her opponents' movement, their skill, their speed. If she didn't do that, she'd be an even worse fighter. Her mind was half the reason she had gotten to be as good as she was, an asset, not a liability. She fought fast and more intelligently than her opponents.

"I think you're wrong," she said bluntly.

"Your mind's in the way of your body." He acted as though he hadn't heard her, scratching the side of his face vigorously. "You aren't listening to your instincts one damn bit. Or maybe you haven't got any."

"That's not how I fight."

"Obviously. It's how you should fight."

She rolled her eyes. They had had this argument before, screaming at each other in the middle of their practice court, usually right before Bishop had lost his patience and started smacking her around with his sword again. She was not keen on reliving the memories just now.

"I should leave," he said suddenly, as though reading her thoughts, and got to his feet. He wobbled a little, but remained standing. "Somewhere out there, my next drink's calling. And a whore. Hopefully a whore."

"Well," she started, unsure of what to say. His help had been the least expected. "Thanks, I guess."

"Yeah." He was staring at the wall behind her, his eyes glassy. "You want to repay me, put up a good fight. After all, seeing that Luskan bastard kill you in one blow wouldn't be very entertaining."

"I expect not," she said dryly and watched him turn towards the door, walking rather slowly as though unsure of his steps. When he was gone, she dismissed all thoughts about him and finally turned her attention back to the two people practicing swordplay.

She would have to modify most of what she knew, she realized, in order to account for Lorne's height. His attacks would rain down almost from directly overhead, if she let him get close enough. She wasn't used to raising her swords completely above her head to defend herself. She doubted her muscles would be able to take it, even just deflecting the blows.

She was so deeply absorbed in trying to internalize it all that she didn't even notice when someone else entered the room. A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped with surprise.

"Easy, kitten," Rilien's voice soothed her frayed nerves. "I've brought your boots."

"Boots?" Brianna asked dumbly. She couldn't remember needing them. Her mind was too preoccupied with swords and steps and the fact that Rilien was finally here.

"I'd hold you," he said, sitting down a foot away from her, "but I'm too afraid you'll fall asleep on me. And this looks important."

He was probably right, Brianna contemplated. She knew only too well how comfortable his embrace was. That didn't mean she had to like the fact that he wasn't touching her.

"You'll stay?" she asked, trying not to beg and failing miserably. She couldn't stand the thought of being away from him again. There was so little time left until the duel, until she might be cut down. Without meaning to, she reached for his hand and clung to it as though it was a lifeline. The squeeze he gave her hand in return was utterly comforting.

"I won't leave," he assured her.

More visitors soon found their way into the temple. The first one was Khelgar, fully armored, with his battleaxe strapped to his back. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. The dwarf had always taken his role as her very first fighter-protector quite seriously.

"Let me at'em," the dwarf growled, marching towards them at full speed. "Stinkin' cowards, sendin' a fragile lass to fight to the death! What kinda justice is this?"

"I had to listen to that for hours during the trial," Shandra remarked, lowering her sword and stepping back from Cormick before yawning profusely.

"Ye should be angry, yerself." Khelgar wheeled around, staring wildly. "All that talkin', and fer what? Fer a blasted battle, sendin'er to knock heads with that ogre!"

Shandra sheathed her sword and crossed her arms, looking mildly offended. "You know, just because I'm actually helping instead of shouting at people, that doesn't mean I don't care."

"We're all angry," Cormick added, frowning himself. "I nearly got into a shouting match with one of the Nine just before coming here. Nasher should have been able to prevent this. That clause should have been invalidated ages ago. Or else, he should just have ignored the Luskan demands and thrown them all out of here on their behinds. Who cares about maintaining diplomatic relationships with those bastards, anyway?"

Khelgar pulled frantically on his beard. Brianna half-expected to see hair coming loose. "Should be me in that arena," he grumbled. "Cowards won't even let me fight in yer place."

She frowned at him. "You asked?"

"Course I did! Firs' thing I did, after. Had that bloody Nines' knight tellin' me ter get lost, that it wasn't my business. It damn well is!" he thundered.

"Nasher could at least have allowed a substitute," Shandra agreed. "I don't understand a bit of this outcome. I don't understand why Nasher doesn't care if you're killed tomorrow."

"He does, he just cares a whole lot more about his blasted politics," Cormick muttered, sounding frustrated. Looking unsure what to do now that Shandra had stopped practicing, he went to lean against a wall.

"Ah, politics," Rilien sighed. "The way I see it, Nasher's taking a gamble with sweet Brianna's fate. If she wins, he'll have the Luskans out of here without upsetting the Lord's Alliance, and at the same time, his authority's going to be validated by Tyr himself, or so people will believe."

The thoughts they were all voicing were all the exact thoughts Brianna had tried to keep from her head. It was no use getting upset and lamenting her fate when she could still change it.

"And if I lose, he'll be out one easily replaceable Lieutenant," she muttered.

Rilien leaned over and patted the back of her hand, while Cormick stalked over to them both.

"We haven't been introduced," the marshal said stiffly.

Brianna was trying to figure out how to break the news gently, but she was saved from having to do it by the next person to step through the doors. The sound of clinking glass preceded Sand's arrival, and when her lawyer did enter the room, he was so barely visible behind the large cotton-wrapped bundle he was carrying.

"Sand!" she exclaimed, getting to her feet. "Where have you been?"

"In my shop," came the somewhat strained reply. "If someone could take this _gently_, my mass reducing cantrip is bound to run out any…"

Cormick plucked the bundle from the moon elf's hands and sat it down. More clinking glass accompanied the movement, and Sand, exhaling a sigh of relief, sat down next to the bundle. The elf was still looking as exhausted as he had after the trial, his hair flat and his skin sallow, but on top of that, his robes were now torn in at least two places, red blotches covered both of his hands, and he smelled distinctly of sulfur.

"As I could not be certain exactly what strategy you might decide on, I brought a bit of everything," Sand explained the cotton-wrapped pile, which turned out to consist entirely of potions. Brianna stared down at the assortment of colors and shapes, a jumble of bulbous bottles, slim bottles, square ones and round ones, tiny vials and one that looked like a hip flask, all filled with liquids, some of which shimmered red or green, others a murky brown, one even exuding a bit of silver light. Another was entirely see-through, with what looked like whole cloves of pickled garlic inside it, and Brianna wondered whether he had accidentally grabbed that one from his pantry.

She was still pretty sure that this jumbled pile was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever encountered.

"Sand," she said, still staring. "Are you _sure_ you don't want to marry me?"

He ignored her in favor of sorting the pile.

"You will be allowed only two potions," he reminded her, setting them all upright. "You will have to pick wisely. "I spent my time just now making several of these here special for you, which cost a small fortune in ingredients, though I am certain you won't waste any time worrying about that."

"Wow," Shandra muttered. Everyone else had grouped around the potions pile as well, with Khelgar eying the magical battle-aids skeptically, the other three looking on in awe. Brianna, meanwhile, was thinking.

"You happen to have something in there that could turn me invisible?" she wanted to know. "Or at least difficult to see? Turn me into a puff of air?"

"Dear girl, I am not, nor will I ever be, a windwalker. Hence no puffs of air, though I trust this will satisfy."

He handed her a corked vial that looked and felt empty. When Brianna shook it, she could hear liquid splashing.

"Let me guess," she said. "The potion is invisible?"

Sand grouped yet another assortment of potions together. "You are what you drink," the wizard confirmed.

"What's this one then?" Rilien wanted to know, pointing at the potion that shimmered silver.

Sand barely glanced up. "It protects you from the undead," he informed Rilien, uncorked a red bottle, sniffed it, and recoiled. "Ah."

Brianna doubted very much that this particular potion would be of much help against Lorne in the morning. The invisibility potion, however, was most welcome. She clutched it tightly.

"One more," she told herself as much as anyone. A healing potion was the obvious choice, but what would that help when fighting a man that might kill her with the very first blow he landed? Wasn't it far more clever to try and best him without being hurt in the first place? She chewed her lip, thinking, then was interrupted by the inescapable urge to yawn.

"Get yer rest, lass," Khelgar ordered her promptly.

"I'm not allowed to sleep," she explained, rolling her eyes at the Tyrrans. "I'm supposed to be praying."

"Nonsense. You need sleep." Cormick appeared to be only too eager to disregard this particular set of rules. "I'll stand watch outside the door myself to make sure they don't catch you napping."

"I'll help," Shandra offered eagerly. "He's right, you need to sleep at least a little bit before the morning."

Brianna appreciated their concern. At the same time, being caught breaking the rules wasn't the only problem.

"I'm not so sure I _can_ sleep," she argued. "The last few nights were awful already."

Sand promptly shoved a potion at her. Spirals of grey and dark blue swirled lazily inside the bottle. She strongly suspected that it was a sleeping potion.

"Only a small sip," he advised her. "Else you are going to sleep right through your fight. But it will get you rest."

"Fine," she agreed, uncorking the bottle. "Alright. But…"

"I'll be havin' a look at yer things," Khelgar informed her, nodding towards her pile of equipment. "Get yer leathers oiled and yer swords sharp."

"I'll be your pillow," Rilien offered cheerily.

Brianna couldn't help but feel soothed by all the concern. Shandra and Cormick ended up leaving their cloaks for her, arguing that freezing would help keep them awake as they stood watch outside the door. Brianna drank from the potion, only a small sip, as Sand had told her, and found herself hoisted towards the fireplace and warmly wrapped up in coarse fabric and fur lining just a moment later.

"Bit amusing, isn't it?" she heard Rilien's voice near her ear just as she began to notice the potion taking effect. Everything seemed to fade almost imperceptibly.

"What is?" she asked, hearing footsteps and clinking noises nearby, not caring where they came from.

"The Tyrrans, wanting you to spend your night alone, awake and in prayer, and instead you're sleeping with a whore."

"Yes," she agreed, found some part of his skin with her lips and pressed a kiss to it. Everything seemed to become blue-tinged. "It's the best thing to do the night before I might die."

"Sleeping with a whore?" His arms tightened around her. He was so utterly comfortable. And he smelled so good.

"With my whore," she corrected him, mumbling, then watching impassively as the world became darker, fading to grey, and eventually blinked out in its entirety.


	66. Changes

**Changes**

All in all, Brianna thought, she could have picked a better day to make her final stand against Luskan.

It was cold, the skies above grey and unfriendly, barely illuminated to the east where the sun was likely beginning to rise just now. It was difficult to be sure, because the cloud cover was absolute. Something that was more mist than rain drizzled down upon her as she made her way through the muddy grass at the side of Sir Darmon. Under the weight of her body, armor and equipment, her boots sank into the ground further than she might have wished, causing her to leave a trail of deep footprints. Moisture pooled in each one as soon as she made her next step. She hoped the ground in the arena was not quite so soggy.

They did not speak. There was no need, with everything that needed to be said having been said already, and nothing left for Brianna to do than to make sure her mind was ready for what was about to happen. A slight wind tugged on her, playing with the single lock of hair that had managed to escape the confines of the leather strap she had wound around her curls to keep them back. Brianna tucked the strand behind her ear. She had no patience now to retie the strap.

Several feet back, the priestess of Kelemvor followed her, silently and patiently. Brianna knew another priest would be following Lorne in the same manner, ready to ease the burden of death one of them would face this day. She had told the priestess in as few words as possible that she wished no such assistance, however, and in fact could have done without yet another reminder of the finality of this Trial by Combat.

Her gloved hands were double-checking each of her buckles, wrapping themselves briefly around the hilts of her swords, making sure her charmed amulet was properly around her neck, that the potions tucked into loops on her belt were easily accessible. The shards, as always, were humming softly in their pouch, their presence a matter of course.

Pinned to her undershirt, she wore Rilien's silver Moonstone Mask pin. He had given it to her just after she had been woken by Shandra, as they had said their goodbyes, insisting she should have something of his to wear into battle.

"Like a noble lady might bequeath an earring or handkerchief to her favorite knight," he had said with a wink and half a smile, "you should carry my favor, my sweet, brave Brianna." Then he had kissed her so thoroughly she'd lost track of where up and down were.

She blinked and tried to chase away the lingering feeling of his lips on hers. Dear as it was, it was not productive just now to dwell on the way Rilien made her feel. Instead, she focused on what lay before her. The arena was an enormous oval of stone, the battlefield itself surrounded by rows and rows of ascending stairs on which people would be sitting and watching. There were two tunnels through which to access the field itself, on opposite ends of the arena. She would be entering through the northern one. Lorne would approach from the south. She could already hear the booming, magically amplified voice of Sir Nevalle, announcing the combatants and the reason for the duel, as though the spectators didn't already know. Soon, they had reached the beginning of the stone tunnel, where they stood and waited, listening to Nevalle's voice and the noise of the crowd.

She turned her head when she heard the wet sound of someone running through the mud. Several someones, she realized, frowning as Shandra and Neeshka appeared in her field of vision, Grobnar following closely behind.

"Well this is most irregular," Sir Darmon commented, making absolutely no motion to prevent Brianna's friends from getting to her. She was glad that it was him who kept watch over her instead of Sir Nevalle, who certainly would have stuck to each and every rule as though he had been glued to them.

"Just wanted… to wish… good luck," Shandra wheezed, coming to a stop and holding her side.

"And Shandra said…" Neeshka added, gasping for breath, "she said that… Cormick said… to make that Luskan mad. So… here's what we came up with."

She thrust a square of parchment Brianna's way.

"And I have this," Grobnar added, miraculously looking far more fresh than either of the women. The little bard held out something on a string that looked decidedly organic, and disgusting. "A lucky rabbit's foot."

Brianna's eyebrows shot up. "Oh," she said. Then she caught a whiff of the stench of Grobnar's talisman and nearly gagged. "Er, thank you."

"You're quite welcome," the gnome assured her cheerfully. "Oh, my, what an exciting occasion."

"Grobnar," Shandra hissed, then shrugged in apology. "I suppose I never did get around to explaining to him exactly what is going on."

Brianna nodded. The little bard's health was still fragile, and they had all agreed that the trial would upset him too much to let him watch it. He had spent the last day in the Flagon, in his bed. Now, however, Shandra and Neeshka were pulling the gnome back by his collar and, whispering, appeared to be attempting to explain just how serious the situation was.

Staring at the dangling rabbit's foot in her hand, Brianna thrust it at the Kelemvorite priestess. "Be a dear and hold this for me, would you?" she asked. The priestess took the offending object without any change of expression, holding it at arm's length. Brianna promptly unfolded Neeshka's piece of parchment, as to have a her hands full and therefore a good excuse not to be holding the odd talisman.

_Your mother is a filthy Luskan dockside prostitute_, she read the first sentence. _I can't tell whether I'm looking at your face or your behind_, was the second one. It went on like this to the edge of the parchment, insult after insult that the tiefling appeared to have scribbled down in a hurry. Brianna smiled humorlessly and tucked the document into her belt. Given the fact that he was also a harborman, and she knew plenty of things about his past, she would hopefully be able to come up with a few more personal insults. But she did appreciate the thought.

The noise of the crowd faded, then rose again.

"Oh," she heard Grobnar's voice then, and looked up just in time to see alarm crossing the gnome's features. "Oh, but that is very bad!"

"Yep," confirmed Neeshka.

"But why?"

"I'd like to know that too," Shandra admitted to the gnome.

Brianna smiled without meaning it. She unhooked the crossbow from her belt and occupied herself with triple-checking every part of it, hoping Grobnar would not burst into tears.

_Not long now._

"Are you ready?" Sir Darmon demanded to know, stepping forward when she gave him a tense nod. She glanced at Neeshka and Shandra, still attempting to help the gnome come to terms with the fact that she might not come back once she stepped through the tunnel, and reached for a bolt to fit into her crossbow.

Numbness spread through her body as her nerves, frayed as they were, gave in, and she felt herself suddenly on the verge of panic. Her breath came in bursts, she fumbled with the bolt, couldn't manage the delicate movement needed to arm her weapon.

She caught movement at the edge of her vision. Darmon was waving for her to step past him and into the tunnel.

_Not yet, too soon. __I can't focus. __I need to calm down. He'll kill me in the first blow. _

Then Grobnar began to hum a little melody.

She thought it was the little bard's way of dealing with the situation, singing to himself for comfort, and so she desperately tried to find comfort in the music herself.

_One final song, just one, before I might never hear music again. _

She wanted for the melody to touch her, to steady her. _My sweet, brave Brianna_, Rilien had called her. She feverishly wished she had as much faith in herself as he did. She wished Casavir could be here, to keep her calm with his aura, she wished Khelgar could have stepped in with his dented armor and scratched battleaxe and charged Lorne with a mighty dwarven roar. But it was only her, now, only her and the music keeping her company.

She raised her eyes at the little bard, still humming with his eyes closed. She felt calm, suddenly, no longer paralyzed by fear and numb with panic. Her body was her own. Something tingled inside her chest – maybe a bit of subtle magic, carried by the music. Maybe just her own imagination.

Her hands steadied. Effortlessly, she fit the bolt.

"Thank you, Grobnar," she whispered hoarsely, and stepped into the tunnel.

* * *

The flames sprung up in an impenetrable wall behind her, sealing off the tunnel. Faintly, she realized that another wall of fire had risen up at the far end of the arena, framing a large, dark figure. The message was clear. There was no way out until the duel was decided. Only one of them would leave alive.

Her legs felt heavy as she walked to the center, just like Sir Darmon had told her. Lorne, opposite her, did the same, until she could spot him clearly, could once more see the madness in his eyes, the hatred that appeared to have become a part of him. He carried a large falchion, its jagged edge promising pain and misery if he should land so much as a glancing blow on her. She knew such a weapon was wielded almost like an axe, despite looking sword-like, and she made a mental note to be on the lookout for chopping strikes from above. Satisfied, she saw that he was only wearing leather armor. She had been worried he would be decked out in full plate, which would make her crossbow as good as useless. The leather, while it would not slow him down quite as much, was penetrable.

"Hello, Lorne," she said when he was within speaking distance, and stopped. He did as well, remaining silent. She searched for words.

"Your mother is a filthy Luskan dockside prostitute," she eventually informed him, matter-of-fact. Silently, she hoped her words would never get back to Retta Starling, or Bevil, for that matter. "And your father, from the looks of it, was the dumbest ogre to ever walk the ground of Faerun."

He only stared, emotionless.

…well. It had been worth a try.

Lord Nasher, up on the podium, was talking. She paid his words no mind.

"You know, they do miss you, back home in West Harbor," she then mentioned casually. "I was still there for the Harvest Fair, this year past. Georg loves telling that story of Cormick beating you for the cup, it's got the kids reeling with excitement, wanting to be just like Cormick the hero, beating up Lorne the slow and stupid."

Still, no reaction. He continued to stare, waiting as she did for the signal to start the fight. A vein was throbbing in his throat.

She clung to her crossbow, wrapping her fingers around the smooth wood. _Her, or Lorne. Only one would walk from this alive. Gods, it had to be her._

"I wonder what your mother would think to see you like this." She meant that one, imagining Retta's reaction to the hatred in Lorne's eyes, to his willingness to support the cause of Luskan, to slaughter an entire village of innocents. "I wonder what Bevil would say if he knew about Ember. If he knew what you did."

Still, he did not move. As she stared at him, however, she watched the color creep slowly into his face.

"Combatants, make your peace and step away," Nevalle's voice reached her ears, barely.

Peace was not on her mind at all. She doubted it was on Lorne's either. Without another word, she stepped backwards, slowly, moving until she had once more almost reached the curtain of flame that blocked her exit.

Then she raised her crossbow, and aimed. And waited.

"Fight!" the command sounded through the arena.

She shot.

Six bolts later, Lorne had nearly reached her. She had reloaded frantically and hit him at least thrice, glancing his thigh, injuring the bicep of his left arm, and piercing his lower torso just above the hip, though she did not know how far the bolt had penetrated beneath the armor. A fourth shot had missed his body, but shattered one of the potion bottles in his belt. By now, Lorne's skin had broken out in red blotches, his eyes dark with rage. He was bound to be angered by the fact that she had managed to injure him before he had even gotten to her.

She fired one last bolt almost at point blank range, hitting his torso once more, though the bolt did not penetrate as deeply as she might have wished. Then she threw the weapon up at his face, blinding him temporarily while she went for her swords and lunged into an attack.

He swatted one of her swords away with his falchion, but her off-hand landed a blow on his leg, cutting his leather breeches and drawing blood. She ducked and ran, not even looking whether he might grant her another opening, just trying to get away.

When she whirled around, he was running at her, not five feet from her, and gaining.

"I'll carve my name straight into your hide while you still breathe," he threatened her through clenched teeth. It was the first time he had spoken, and that told her quite a lot.

"Are you sure you'll manage to spell it?" she taunted, trying to stay focused, waiting for a telltale muscle twitch, for any sign of what he might try. Eyes narrowed, swords ready, she watched.

At the last moment he brought his weapon up, far above both their heads, and right away she dove past him and scrambled to find her footing on the muddy ground. She couldn't meet a blow like that. She wasn't strong enough to withstand that kind of force.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew the crowd was shouting and cheering. It was impossible to concentrate on the specifics, however, when she had to focus first and foremost on not being cut in twain. She turned and watched Lorne spinning round, carried by the force of his own attack. The semi-ridiculous twirl, however, turned into yet another charge, and she found herself running and dodging for her life once more.

The falchion sliced through the air less than an inch from her cheek. Her pounding heart nearly stopped when she realized how close she had just come to having half her face sliced off, and she backed off further before she even realized she was doing it.

"You know, your brain might not have understood it, but in order to beat me, you'll actually have to hit me," she informed him promptly, making light of his near-miss. Lorne bared his teeth, and she watched his muscles bulging as he gripped his weapon harder, as he prepared to charge her again. He looked at her, though his eyes did not even appear to be seeing her, and she knew it was time. Her fingers found the vial.

"See you later," she sing-sanged as he broke into a sprint, faintly wondering where she was finding the nerve, and raised the vial to her mouth.

Then, she winked out of existence.

At least, that was how it had to look to Lorne and all of the spectators. She stared down at the body that wasn't there any longer, fascinated, but feeling suddenly quite clumsy. Then, it occurred to her to get out of the way as Lorne flung his weapon far out in frustration.

"Show yourself," he roared, veins throbbing on his forehead and his throat, his skin still red as though he'd been out in the sun too long. She ran.

It didn't even take someone like Lorne long to figure out to follow her footsteps. The ground was wet and sandy, and her boots left distinct imprints, and even though he couldn't see her, every new impression told him exactly where she had just moved. She ran frantically, dodging and weaving as he swung his falchion in wide arcs, eyes on the ground. Despite how ridiculous he looked, she didn't let herself forget for a single moment that even a glancing blow would impact her like she'd just been kicked by ten horses.

As he focused on the ground, so did she. She was glad nobody could see her as she begun dancing around him, jumping far and wide, trying to get him to lose her tracks. Her footprints stayed on the ground, all of them, multiplying fast, and if he didn't see them form, it would be impossible for him to tell which prints were those of her current location. But he spun, following them, falchion attacking the empty air, and making some damn good guesses as to where she was standing. More than once his blade came far too close to slicing her open, and she realized she had better change her tactic before the inevitable happened.

So she ran again, far enough to be out of his reach, bent down and scooped up two handfuls of mud. She flung them at his face. Her aim was true, and as he cursed and spit, she took three long, hopping steps away from her position, and waited.

Lorne spun, having finally lost her tracks. His eyes darted back and forth. He was in a frenzy, his muscles pumping, sending his weapon to cut the empty air, over and over, trying to find her. He looked wide-eyed and utterly desperate.

All she had to do was duck. The falchion completed yet another arc far above her head. Then Lorne stumbled away, tiring himself out as he shouted more curses and tried to cut the place where she wasn't standing. He was stumbling now, and his chest heaved with the exertion. She watched it with utter satisfaction.

He wasn't shredding fenceposts, but he was getting tired nonetheless. She wished he would have put himself into a position for her to approach unseen and send her sword through his heart, but even frenzied he was smart enough not to leave himself open. He turned incessantly, keeping his eyes open for footprints and making sure not to leave his back turned in any direction for too long. That, she supposed, would have been too easy.

Then every inch of her skin suddenly tingled and itched, and as she looked down, she saw her legs coming back into existence.

_Right. Time for phase two. _

She ignored the renewed excitement of the crowd at her reappearance and wrested the cork from the second bottle with her teeth. The potion went down her throat in one desperate gulp, because Lorne was already coming at her now, looking tired and crazy and desperate for her blood. Her swords went up before her as she waited for his first attack.

He hit her underhand, which she hadn't expected. If not for her body's newfound supernatural grace, he might have cut deeply into her leg, but the second potion turned out to have been a wise choice. She leaped just in time. Even with this athletic maneuver she couldn't manage to avoid his blade entirely. Her heart nearly stopped when she felt the tip of the falchion slice her leather breeches and leggings. Her body turned in mid-air, and she met the ground forearms-first, angling her weapons away to prevent them from breaking. Elegantly, she rolled and used her momentum to get right back to her feet. She was only too aware that Sand's potion of Cat's Grace might have just saved her life. Lorne would have crippled her leg otherwise, maybe even taken advantage right there and then to end her life.

She had expected an overhead attack, because she had figured Lorne would use his strength to try and break through her defenses, bringing her to her knees by bearing down upon her. Instead, he had done the opposite, and she had not been ready. Grimly, she set her jaw, analyzing his movement once more, trying to prepare for whatever he might do next. As she backed away and he followed, she scrutinized the play of his muscles and the way he handled his weapon. She _would_ figure him out.

As though the ranger had screamed it into her ear, a small voice reminded her that this was the opposite of what Bishop had told her to do. Could she really read Lorne this well as to know what he would try next?

Another underhand attack. She was able to deflect this one at the last second, using both her swords and crossing them to catch the jagged weapon at the end of its sideways arc. The sound of steel grinding against steel rang in her ears as she guided the falchion past her body, and Lorne disengaged and backed away.

She had always thought she could. It was how she had learned to fight, reacting to an opponents attack by performing the right counter, attacking when whoever she was fighting was in a position that she could take advantage of. It was what Cormick had taught her, what she had internalized so long ago. Observe, analyze, think, react.

It was a long way from action to reaction, she suddenly realized, just as Lorne's blade came at her from above once more and might have cut her shoulder clean off it she hadn't deflected the blow. Even so, the muscles of her arm throbbed alarmingly. Another blow like that, and she might lose all feeling in this particular limb.

Too long from action to reaction.

Faintly, she realized that these were very odd thoughts to have in the middle of combat. Generally, she tried not to think at all, and she blamed Bishop for setting this damn bug in her ear, for telling her she could be so much better, if only… what? If only she stopped thinking?

Ridiculous.

The strategy had always served her well enough, fighting githyanki and thugs and teaming up with her companions to bring down her enemies. But Lorne, she realized as she derailed three more swings that came at her fast and hard, was not the clueless ogre she had hoped he would be. He had more than just his brute strength. He had been trained extensively, knew how to best his opponents with both his physical advantage and his skill, and Brianna…

Brianna was too slow.

Even with two swords instead of one, even with Lorne tired and no longer quite as threatening, she barely managed to defend herself. The maneuvers she had been taught the night before were fresh in her mind, but she had no chance to use them, not with him attacking her as brutally as he was and her not even getting a chance to do anything but push away his weapon over and over, using up what strength her body had left.

Another underhand swing, so strong he managed to swat her sword aside and she barely ducked her head in time. A lock of her hair was swept away by the breeze as she watched. This, she thought as she backed off again, was exactly what Bishop had been talking about. Too slow, too much thinking. Action, reaction. It should be a simple, two-step process, she needed it to be in order to best her opponent in this duel.

And suddenly, she understood.

Her swords felt feather-light in her hands. She concentrated on both of them, their hilts in her palms, their blades cutting the air. When Lorne attacked again, she didn't even focus on his movements. She didn't need to. Without her thoughts overriding her body, her muscles knew what to do all by themselves. All she had to do was listen.

Her arms swept up in a high arc, derailing Lorne's blade before she even realized that it was an overhand swing he was trying. Her right hand guided his falchion away from them both, and her left pulled away, descending directly in front of her and landing a vicious blow across Lorne's face.

Stunned, she stumbled backwards. The wound began to weep blood as she watched, and when he opened his mouth and drooled red she realized she had cut all the way through his cheek. His chin soon dripped blood into the sand.

_Did I just do that?_

He was grasping for the potion in his belt, unstoppering it with one shaking hand. She watched him down it hastily as he backed away. Most of it ended up splashed onto his face and dripping into the dirt instead of going down his throat.

She was still shocked into passivity by her own attack, hadn't got a clue how she had done it. Somehow, she had known what he would try before her mind had even gotten there, her muscles reacting all by themselves.

_Action, reaction. _

Smiling grimly, she raised her swords again.

If Lorne had noticed any change in her, he did not react to it. Just as determined as before, he strode forward, boots splashing mud, falchion outstretched before him. She knew he was exhausted, and she knew he was no longer thinking clearly, bleeding, having spent so much of his energy on rage.

It was time to end this.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she once more suppressed her mind wanting to watch for flaws in Lorne's approach and figure out how to counter them. Instead, she channeled all of her concentration into her own swords, trusting in them, trusting in her own body's ability to react without her having to tell it so.

He tried to drive the tip of his falchion straight into her belly, a jabbing thrust forward she could never have expected. Yet her sword was there, somehow, following his path, almost like their weapons were dancing. Together they described an arc between his body and hers, blades passing through the air as she derailed his attack and guided his falchion away to the side, to flail harmlessly.

Her other sword, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, went into a downwards dive. She thought it might be singing as it cut through the air, burying itself deeply in Lorne Starling's thigh. A shudder ran through her arm. She thought it might be the breaking of his femur. Only at the very last moment did she realize that he was stumbling.

Once more drawing upon the temporary magical grace she had been given, she vaulted over the weapon he was still swinging, turned, and watched him land in the sand with arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to break the fall.

Then her off-hand sword rushed down with all of the desperate strength of her protesting muscles, and cut halfway through his neck, breaking it. The ugly sound was one of such finality that she knew it was over.


	67. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

The Sunken Flagon was a low-key establishment, a place where people went to spend a few quiet evening hours drinking, where sailors found quick refuge before shipping out once more. It wasn't generally the place where one went to find a crowd of people drunk at noontime.

But Brianna also didn't generally spend her mornings fighting duels to the death, so she figured she might as well stop expecting this day to be normal. Sipping her ale, one hand lazily ruffling the fur of the cat on her lap, she leaned back in her chair, carefully, as not to strain her sore and bruised body any more than strictly necessary, and watched the escapades with a quiet smile on her face.

Grobnar had been joined by one of the bards from the Moonstone Mask in providing the music. The sullen-looking half-elf played the flute while the gnome skillfully plucked the string of his lute. Teelah, looking as radiant as always, had joined them with a tambourine. Half the men in the tavern probably had their eyes on the red-headed woman at any given moment, Brianna figured, but Teelah acted as though she never noticed.

Marshall Cormick was dancing with Neeshka. The tiefling had definitely had a few too many. She didn't appear to be able to stop giggling as she spun, lightfooted, her tail draped across her arm as though it was the train of a dress she wore. Nearby, Shandra clung to Rilien as though afraid to drown if she let go. The woman certainly wasn't a natural dancer, and she seemed terrified of treading on everyone's feet. Rilien patiently guided her through the steps. Then there was Sal, Duncan's bartender, twirling a flustered Qara who didn't seem to be able to figure out how she had gotten herself caught up in a dance, of all things.

Brianna was able to make out Khelgar's voice even in this loud a crowd. The dwarf had turned away from the conversation he'd been engrossed in, discussing with Callum whatever it was dwarves away from their clans discussed in a Neverwinter tavern.

"Ye'll be needin' a few pitchers of ale in ye, makes a dancer out of anyone, lad," the dwarf opined, apparently giving constructive criticism to the stiffest couple on the dancefloor. Casavir was barely moving as he held an obviously uncomfortable Elanee, and didn't appear to want to heed the advice. Brianna wondered which one of them had asked the other for the dance.

"Pudding?" asked a bright voice. Brianna looked up and frowned at the blond young woman who was holding out a huge pewter bowl in offering, filled to the brim with something that looked entirely too orange. She was dressed respectably and demure, in clothes too expensive for her to be anything but a noble or rich merchant's daughter.

"Elis," she finally recognized the greycloak who had climbed across the mountains and killed orcs alongside Brianna in Old Owl Well. "Goodness, I could barely tell it was you."

"Ditched the uniform for the day," the girl explained, peering down at her offering. "It's pumpkin flavored, I think."

"One of Qara's creations?" Brianna wondered. Duncan had been putting the sorceress to work in the kitchen lately, trusting her cooking skills. The results were generally disastrous.

"A dish sent over from the Mask, actually." Elis peered down at the pudding critically, as though expecting it to confirm or deny the accusation. "I'll try it first, if you like."

Brianna waved the offer away and found a spoon on the table that she hoped hadn't been used by anyone yet. If it came from the Mask, it was likely safe to eat, she figured, and tried a bite. The flavor of spiced, creamy pumpkin filled her mouth.

"That's delicious," she announced with some surprise, her mouth still full, and signaled for Elis to join her. The girl put the bowl on the table and found her own spoon. On Brianna's lap, Jaral woke and stretched, and when Brianna went for another spoonful of pudding, Sand's familiar propped his front paws onto the table and inspected the bowl's contents with unveiled interest.

"So, how have you been?" Brianna somewhat awkwardly tried to make conversation. They hadn't gotten along too well up in the mountains, after all, and the last time she had seen Elis, the girl had still been stricken with grief over Sandrik's death. Now, though, Elis gave her a genuine smile.

"Things have been good, generally," she admitted, and offered a small spoonful of pumpkin pudding to Jaral. "Found a man, a while back, the son of a friend of my father's, and I thought he might propose, but then I realized he was waiting for me to give up my cloak before asking, so that didn't work out, then." She shrugged.

"You stuck with the greycloaks all this time?" Brianna couldn't help but be impressed by Elis' tenacity. She had been a whiny, naïve girl, back in the mountains, idealistic and in for several harsh surprises, and Brianna would have expected her to go running back to her parents after that whole adventure. But Elis had stuck it out and was still serving Neverwinter.

"It is what I want," Elis confirmed. "Certainly it's a bit odd for a trader's daughter, I know, but I never felt quite right when all I did was to wear fancy dresses and attend parties and try to rub shoulders with all the nobility. I wanted to prove something to everyone, joining the cloaks back then, and I ended up proving something to myself, instead." She clasped her hands in her lap, looking down. "Sorry. Here I go, babbling to Neverwinter's newest heroine."

Brianna grimaced. _Farewell, last shred of anonymity._

Sir Darmon, looking admittedly dashing in a dark blue tunic, dropped into the seat on Brianna's other side.

"Pudding," the knight stated as though they didn't know, reaching for the bowl while Elis shrank to about half her size, looking intimidated to be in such close proximity to a member of the Nine other than Callum.

"It's good," Brianna encouraged him.

"I would expect so," Darmon replied, trying the dish. "Ophala's puddings are legendary." He frowned, considering the words again. "Something about that sounds quite wrong, doesn't it?"

The music changed to a fast reel. Couples re-formed out on the floor. Brianna spotted Shandra now with her arms around Cormick's neck, and suspected strongly that Rilien had passed the woman on to the marshal directly. Duncan had done Casavir a favor and was leading the druidess by her arm to another spot on the dancefloor.

Brianna found herself infinitely glad that she was in no shape to be dancing. Elanee had already brewed her an herbal tea to help with the bruises and soreness, and Sand had forced her to ingest a pick-me-up that was doing its work in keeping her awake and alert through the celebration. Nevertheless, she was looking forward to a long, good night's sleep.

She blinked, realizing that Darmon had just asked her question. "Sorry?"

"It's all over now, and you've emerged victorious. People are chanting your name on the streets. How does it feel?"

Brianna pondered it over yet another mouthful of delicious spiced pumpkin. She hadn't really felt the impact of her newfound fame just yet, safely amidst her friends in the Flagon. She'd know the next time she ventured outside to go to the market.

Someone bumped against her chair, a small figure wearing a lacy tablecloth for a cape. Brianna wondered where the makeshift costume came from, as Duncan certainly didn't bother with such decorations.

"Excuse me!" yelled Dory, busy playing with her fellow group of street rats in the middle of the celebrations. "Innocent Butcher of Ember coming through!"

"Pudding?" Sir Darmon offered, and she took a spoonful from him, leaving half of it smeared across her face as she ran off again, tablecloth trailing along behind her. A burly little boy, not quite on the verge of puberty, came after her. He brandished a wooden stick and roared as he charged past their table.

"So, I have a question." Brianna licked her spoon, then lowered it. "About the Nine."

"Ask away, Lady Butcher," Darmon invited her. She made a face at the knight.

"Are there actually nine of you? I always assumed there were, because otherwise it's a rather silly name, but you and Nevalle are the only ones who ever appear to be on duty. There's Callum, I suppose, but that's still only three."

Darmon chuckled quietly, taking his time before answering. "Never been told that much about the Nine, have you?" he asked then.

She didn't enjoy being accused of ignorance. "I know you are all supposed to be Nasher's very personal elite strike force, and bodyguards. I even know that Halueth Never himself had nine trusted friends who served him when he founded Neverwinter and started the tradition of the Nine. So there."

"His arms and legs, we've been called. It's really not that flattering, if you think about it." Darmon shrugged. "We are nine, but not all of us are public figures like Nevalle and myself. Some lead forces in the farther corners of Neverwinter territory, like Callum. Some of us operate in secret. We aren't all straight up soldiers, you know. Among the nine of us, we have quite a wide variety of talents."

Brianna supposed that it made sense. It was certainly more shrewd of Nasher than to lay his cards on the table and have the Nine all parading around in their fancy cloaks, looking decorative.

"So you and Nevalle have the figurehead roles," she summed it up, sipping her ale. "Neat. How'd you get stuck having to babysit me through the trial, then?"

He laughed. "Mostly, Nevalle didn't want to do it, and I didn't mind. I've always found you quite interesting, truth be told. Nasher wanted one of us with you, to make sure things were proceeding as planned."

"As planned?" she echoed, and the expression on her face appeared to alarm both Sir Darmon and Elis, judging by the way they leaned forward. "That's nice. I sure hope it worked out for him. When was he going to let me know what he had _planned_ with me, anyway?"

"Brianna, he's quite impressed with you," Sir Darmon assured her, thoughtfully stroking his neatly trimmed beard. "He didn't choose to get you tangled up in politics, but he made the best of it. The Arcane brotherhood has been banned from the city, Torio Claven is gone, we don't have to worry about them plotting against us any more."

"That's good for you, to be sure, but all I've gotten out of the damn trial is people gossiping about me on the streets, and that's the opposite of what I wanted for myself. I'm tired of everyone else getting what they want out of me and then leaving me to fend for myself."

"But Brianna, he'll be sure to…"

Sir Darmon was interrupted when the double doors slammed open. It could hardly have been more pompous an entrance for Sir Nevalle, who stepped into the taproom with all eyes on him. The bards stopped playing, Grobnar climbing onto his stool in order to be able to see what was going on, and without the music, the dancers all turned to the door to figure out what the distraction was.

"Brianna Storm!" Nevalle called out.

"Oh hells," she muttered.

The knight was followed by four servants, who were lugging two heavy wooden chests between them. As the entirety of the Flagon's guests watched, both chests were set down. Brianna wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

"Go," Sir Darmon advised her. "You earned it."

She had earned being made a spectacle of in front of everyone she knew? Brianna tried to argue, but by then he had pulled her out of her chair and pushed her forward. Nevalle pulled her the rest of the way, vigorously shaking her hand.

"These are yours," he informed her, indicating the chests with a grand gesture. "The larger one of the two contains the possession of the Luskan Lorne, which are now yours by right. The other holds Milord's gift to you, honoring your bravery and resourcefulness, and thanking you for your valuable service to Neverwinter."

"Thanks," she said weakly, realizing her legs were about to give out. Darmon shouldn't have made her stand. Her vision didn't seem to be working too well – things kept getting darker and darker.

Like a godsent, Rilien was by her side, his arms around her holding her up.

"Seeing how she's bound to be a bit tired from that battle to the death she fought this morning, I wouldn't expect any long speeches," she heard him inform Nevalle. Then he had hoisted her onto a convenient chair, and next thing she knew, the music had started up again.

_Well, that was certainly anticlimactic. _

"You want a drink, my sweet?" he asked.

"No." she groped for him blindly. "I want _you_."

"Seeing as how we're in public, dearest, that might get people gossiping something fierce."

She laughed and put her arms around him, pressing herself tightly against his chest. He stole a couple of quick kisses before pulling away.

"Don't you want to see what you got?"

"I know I would," Neeshka commented. When Brianna blinked her eyes open, she saw the tiefling standing next to one of the chests, tail twitching excitedly.

"Well, open it," she encouraged her friend, and Neeshka did.

She wasn't sure what she had expected. The falchion which had nearly cut her open this very morning, however, was not it. When Neeshka lifted the weapon out of the chest, she swallowed hard.

"You don't actually want to keep that, do you?" Shandra had appeared next to Rilien, looking at the spoils. The woman was sweating, her hair entirely in disarray from dancing.

Neeshka made a face. "It feels weird," she announced. "Like.. like… hells, I don't know. It's not my kind of weapon."

"It is evil." That was Casavir, regarding the weapon with utter contempt. "It has been used for evil deeds. It is soaked with the blood of innocents, and will always be corrupted."

"Oh," said Neeshka sheepishly, and put down the falchion delicately.

"You should destroy it," Casavir advised.

Brianna nodded. "I'll consider doing that," she lied, wondering how much the weapon would fetch if she let Neeshka sell it to one of her under-the-table buyers. "What else is in there?"

Neeshka leaned forward. "Some armor," she announced, reaching into the container. "His blood's still on it. Ooh, a coinpurse. There's a ring, another Circle of Blades one. Should have expected that, shouldn't we? And, er, whatever this thing is."

She held up a scratched and dented golden brooch, its shape, Brianna realized after several seconds of squinting at it, resembling a ladybug.

"I know what that is," Cormick admitted, his voice strangely reluctant. "That belonged to his mother."

Neeshka tilted her head. "You mean, his mother wasn't really a Luskan dockside…"

"Neesh!" Brianna admonished her sharply. It would have been far easier to listen to if she didn't know Retta. She had been able to avoid thinking overmuch about the man she had killed up until now, but the ladybug brooch, reminding her that Lorne had once been a son and a brother to people she knew, didn't exactly help.

"Someone should make sure she gets it," Cormick opined, stepping next to her and keeping his voice down. "Just… just so she knows."

"Yeah." Brianna stared, wondering what Retta might say, confronted with her eldest son's death. "_Someone_ should."

As though trying to prevent any further awkwardness, Neeshka promptly moved on to the second chest. This one bore Neverwinter's seal. The tiefling threw back the lid with enthusiasm.

"Nasher sent you a dress," she informed Brianna.

The garment she pulled out of the chest actually appeared to be a cloak, however. Brianna squinted at the pattern of the fabric, a jumble of natural greens and browns, and found herself oddly reminded of a canopy of leaves in the forest. When Neeshka attempted to unfold the cloak fully, her eyes caught a slight shimmering effect, as though strands of silk had been woven into the fabric.

"_That_ is a cloak of Elvenkind," Sand informed everyone matter-of-factly.

Brianna frowned. The term sounded vaguely familiar, but she wasn't sure why that was. Perhaps Daeghun had mentioned it before, though that didn't mean she knew anything about what made this cloak such a great gift. The murmur of approval throughout the room certainly seemed to indicate it was.

"May I see it?" she requested, and Neeshka tossed it over. As soon as she caught it, her fingers buried in the fabric, she felt the magic.

_Safety. Security. Can't see me. _

She looked up at Sand.

"This helps you hide, doesn't it?" she asked casually, as though she had known it all along. The wizard gave her a nod.

"In a forest or heather, yes, it will make you almost impossible to see if you know how to use it right. It is part of a set, the boots of Elvenkind its counterpart. Quite popular with rangers and druids, I believe."

"Hm." She frowned at the garment, not sure how much use something like this would really be to her. She might actually have considered offering it to Bishop, along with a few rounds of ale and a bit of gold, to thank him for helping her before her fight, but the ranger had been notably absent since the night before, and she had no idea where he'd gone.

"Do you want it?" she asked Sand. The wizard's eyebrows shot up, though she found that reaction to be a bit exaggerated. He was an elf, after all. It wasn't that much of a leap.

"I prefer to stay away from forests and heathers as much as I possibly can," he informed her, as though the idea alone was distasteful to him. Brianna shrugged and wrapped herself in the cloak.

"Suit yourself," she said. It probably would have been proper to thank him for all of the work he had done for her at the trial, but beyond that, she didn't owe him anything. It was Nasher and the Nine, after all, who had recruited Sand to help her. They could be the ones to pay him.

Neeshka was already holding up the next gift. Silver chain links and emeralds sparkled in the firelight.

"By the gods, that is a work of art!" It was Elis who had made that exclamation.

It was, technically, a set of armor - leather and chainmail, Brianna mentally corrected the girl. The workmanship was superb, that she agreed with. The links of chain made no sound at all as Neeshka waved them around. The leather was beautiful, soft on the inside and spotless on the hardened outside. The entire thing was so fancy and expensive-looking that Brianna couldn't see herself wearing it for combat.

Nasher had gifted her a set of ceremonial armor. She had no clue when she might ever wear such a thing.

"Nice," Neeshka commented. "Might fetch a good price."

"You can't sell that!" The shout of outrage came from one of the greycloaks. Brianna ignored it.

"And there's some gold, too." Neeshka held up a pouch of impressive circumference, then a smaller one. "And jewelry. Emeralds."

Brianna rolled her eyes. Whether she liked it or not, apparently, green was her color now. Everyone had noticed the dress she had worn at the trial, matching her eyes so well, an elegant statement of innocence. Ophala had generously gifted her the garment without ever even giving a hint of how much the trial had bruised her own reputation. On top of it, several people had assured her that at least half of the write-ups and oral reports of the trial now making the rounds made mention of the color of her clothing. She'd received four different cakes that all had been dyed green in some manner, to celebrate her victory.

Well, at the very least, she wouldn't have to worry about lack of money in the near future, she figured, watching Neeshka pack everything back into the chest. Several smaller gifts had arrived in the Flagon throughout the morning from all sorts of Neverwinter citizens, many of which, Brianna suspected, felt guilty about betting against her or helping to spread gossip of the Butcher. Her fame had, at least, brought her a tidy amount of money, jewelry and trinkets, along with a couple of disconcerting love letters.

It wasn't until later in the day, when there weren't more than a handful of sober people left in the taproom and Jaral had puked pumpkin pudding on Sand's robes, that Brianna fell into melancholy.

"What now?" she had been asked by several people throughout the celebrations, all of them wanting to know where she would go from here. And Brianna didn't know. Part of her was still expecting someone to come hunting for the shards, but that part grew smaller with each passing day. It had been so long. There had been more than enough time for the tattooed warlock to track her down, yet he had not.

If the shards no longer needed the protection she had amassed around herself, she did have several avenues open to her. She could have returned to work for the city watch, of course, but she very much doubted she would feel the desire to put her life on the line for Neverwinter ever again, especially if the city kept thanking her like it had been. She had also discussed the possibility of travelling with Neeshka, dreaming about sailing down the Sword Coast to see the southern lands, or making their way inland, bound for the east. With the money she had now, she would be able to equip the both of them just fine for a long journey.

There was just one problem with their grand plans, she fully realized for the first time as she stared blankly at the wall, the warmth from the nearby fireplace failing to reach her.

"You look beyond ready for bed, my sweet," Rilien remarked. She turned her head to give him a weak smile, admiring how handsome he looked even in his simple cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. At Brianna's encouragement, he had danced quite a lot this day and apparently gotten hot in the process. His hair was mussed, his cheeks still flushed. The thought of leaving him behind nearly broke her heart right then and there.

"Yes," she said, absent-mindedly, watching Sand who still had not finished lecturing Jaral. "Bed is good."

"That it is," he agreed and helped her up. "You're about due for a good night sleep."

He had a point. She couldn't even remember the last time she had managed to sleep through the night.

"Do we have to sleep right away?" she asked nonetheless, feeling a slight heat in her face.

He shook his head at her, looking bemused.

"Here I was, trying to give you all the time in the world to recover from your exhaustion and all of that mental anguish, singularly dedicated to avoiding all innuendo despite the fact that I just so happen to think a strong warrior woman is the most irresistible thing on the face of Faerun, and you just had to go and ruin all that impressive discipline on my part."

"Yes," she agreed, her smile tired but genuine. "How terribly inconsiderate of me. I'm awfully sorry, puppy."

She watched as he reacted to the nickname by ducking his head, and touched her forehead to his upper arm before speaking again, with finality.

"Now stop your babbling and take me to bed, will you?"


	68. Fool's Quest

**Fool's Quest**

She couldn't sleep.

She had looked forward to this moment for so long, yearned for the time when she would not have to live in fear for her life. And now, that the moment had come, she couldn't bloody sleep. First she'd been too warm, then too cold, then she had been annoyed by the harbor's lights shining with particular brightness this night, but even after she had drawn the curtains shut, her thoughts had not stopped racing through her mind at the speed of lightning, all jumbled together and unwilling to allow her a moment's respite.

She sighed and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. To her right, the blankets stirred.

"What is it?" Rilien asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Nothing," she lied.

"'Nothing' keeping you awake?" he asked dryly.

She sighed again and completed her half-turn to face him in the darkness. "I just can't stop thinking."

"Thinking about what, sweetheart?"

"Everything." She lifted her arm and placed it on the pillow above her buzzing head, trying to think of some way to distract herself from the thoughts of weapons cutting through the air and the urge she felt in her muscles to raise imaginary swords to meet them. Eventually she felt the mattress dip and realized Rilien was leaving the bed.

"What are you…?" She fell silent when she heard the sound of water being poured from the pitcher by the washbasin. A moment later he had pressed a full cup into her hand. She sat up on the bed, sipping water, and waited for him to slip beneath the blankets once more. Her thoughts still spun. Gods, she needed some way to calm them.

"What made you want to work for Ophala?" she wanted to know, leaning back against the headboard.

She was not even sure why she was asking. The question was random, popping into her head without her doing, but maybe, listening to his answer would help her calm her own thoughts.

For a while, he was quiet. Maybe he was trying to figure out why she had asked, or contemplating his answer, or falling asleep again. But then he pushed himself up to sit next to her, leaning back.

"I like making people happy," he said eventually. "Putting them at ease, allowing them to forget their sorrows for a little while. There's several ways one can go about doing that, of course. This is mine."

She smiled, even though he could not see it, and set her cup on the nightstand. She liked that about him, how happy it made him to give others a bit of happiness, how at ease he was himself when he flirted.

"How long have you worked at the Mask?" She had never thought to ask before now, but she was curious.

"Are we playing a question game?" he asked in return, sounding amused. "Don't I get a turn?"

"No," she said ungraciously.

"Very well. Going on six years now, I think."

"How old are you?" It was certainly odd that she'd never thought to ask _that _question, but it had never really mattered.

"Twenty-seven," he told her.

"How many women have you slept with?"

He gave a short, abrupt laugh, then reached for her, his fingers tenderly brushing her hair and cheek. "You sure you want to know that one, kitten?"

"Yes," she whispered. It shouldn't have mattered, not really, but she'd been wondering for a while, never daring to ask.

"Many," he said simply. "It's a bit difficult to count, to be honest, and I don't exactly keep track. Ophala might know better than I. But I work out on the floor four or five nights of the week, don't always end up taking someone to bed, but more often than not I do. Some customers come back. Some don't. And as I said, it's been nearly six years." She hear him exhale. "That's the numbers."

Silently, she considered it. From the start it had been clear to her just what Rilien's profession was, and she was relieved to discover that even hearing the facts of it as bluntly as this didn't bother her overmuch. Seeing him with another woman might be a different matter.

She groped for his hand. He gave hers a tight squeeze, his thumb brushing her knuckles.

"So how many women have _you_ slept with?" he asked, obviously teasing.

She snorted. "Depends on what you mean by sleeping, I suppose," she gave a non-reply.

"Ah. The plot thickens."

"Not like that, you idiot." She flicked her fingers at the unprotected skin of his belly, causing him to flinch. "I only meant that Neeshka and I shared a bed before. Not in the way you're implying."

"Hm," he said, and propped his head up on his arm. "How about men, then?"

"Th- two." She tensed. There had been no _sleeping_ involved with Wyl. He wasn't worthy of a mention, not now, not ever.

She felt the mattress move, and both of Rilien's arms came around her as he drew her close, pressing their nude bodies tightly together, giving her warmth.

"I'm sorry, love," he muttered, his face buried in her neck and shoulder. "That was a foolish thing for me to ask. I should have known better."

"It's alright." She inhaled his scent, trying to calm herself. It had been so long. She needed to learn to leave it all behind her, to forget about the fear and the pain. As she relaxed against him, she considered the questions he had asked her, and a logical follow-up came to mind. "How many men have _you_ slept with, then?"

His fingers twitched against her lower back. It took her a moment to realize he was counting.

"Twelve," he said then.

"Oh."

It was certainly an odd thought.

"Weren't expecting that?" he asked.

"No," she admitted. "All of them at the Mask?"

"Yes. Most men seeking male company go to Tamlin or Marcel, but every once in a while, one asks for me. I'm not one to deny an honest desire."

"Is it very different from being with a woman?"

She felt him shrug, his arms still holding her tightly. "A little. Not as much as most think. It took time and practice for me to learn about women, and it was the same with men. Tamlin taught me most of it."

She considered his answer, remembering the slender blond half-elf she had met several times at the Mask and trying to picture Rilien with him. Their world was so very different from the one she had always known. It was impossible for her to imagine the way Rilien viewed every stranger who came to the Moonstone Mask at night, going to bed with all who wanted him, always seeking to provide comfort and satisfaction. She couldn't ever picture herself doing what he did, sharing his body with so many of them. Yet he seemed to find so much enjoyment in his work.

"You're quite something, you know," she told him eventually. Then she heard him exhale a sigh of relief and realized, perhaps for the first time, how much her opinion of his line of work mattered to him.

"I could say the same about you," he told her.

She grinned wildly into the darkness. "I said it first." Then she twisted her head around and lifted her hands to touch him while kissing his shoulder and chest, giving in to her urges.

"Did all this talk…" Rilien started, then trailed off when she found his mouth, clinging to him. Once she moved on to his ear, he tried again. "Did all this talk of coupling perchance put you in a certain mood, my sweet?"

She pressed him down into the pillows. "Whatever gave you the idea?"

"Lucky guess," he muttered.

Then she had settled herself with one knee to either side of him, letting his hands on her hips guide her, smiling freely as the feelings of elation and euphoria washed over her. Her complicated thoughts turned simple as they joined, leading her to hope that she might be able to catch some sleep after all this night.

* * *

She woke early, to the monotone drumbeat of rain against the window. Dawn had not yet broken. Despite still being sore, however, her body felt oddly energized. For once, she managed not to disturb Rilien in his slumber as she dressed and ventured into the hallway in search for breakfast.

The Flagon was quiet. Brianna was not surprised by this, as she knew the celebrations had gone on long after she had retired to her room with Rilien. Most of her friends and acquaintances were likely busy sleeping off the wine and whiskey that had flown in rivers the day before. She wondered faintly whether Duncan even had any untapped kegs left.

The floorboards were cold beneath her bare feet. She wished she'd have thought to put on her slippers, but when she turned the corner, those thoughts were wiped from her mind.

"Neeshka?" she asked. "What in the world are you doing here?"

The tiefling was curled in a ball against the wall, wearing nothing but a blanket, apparently trying to go to sleep in the hallway. At the sound of Brianna's voice, she lifted her head and blinked her eyes open.

"Oh hey," she muttered tiredly. "I did something… something not so good."

"Get incredibly drunk?" Brianna guessed.

"Apart from that." Neeshka raised her hands to rub her face vigorously. "Oh gods. My head hurts."

"Get back to bed." Brianna nodded at the door to the tiefling's room, not five feet away. "Sleep it off."

"Can't," Neeshka said, glancing up at Brianna rather sheepishly.

"Why in the hells not?"

"Cormick's in there."

It took Brianna a full five seconds to understand the implications.

"_What?_" she choked out.

"Hells, I know. I didn't... I just… he was so upset after he saw you with Rilien, and then things just sort of… well, you know. Seemed like a good idea at the time." The tiefling waved her hand around in a vaguely dismissive gesture.

"Oh, Neesh," Brianna sighed, and sat down in the middle of the hallway next to her friend.

"Shandra's going to kill me if she finds out, isn't she?"

"Probably." Brianna put an arm around the tiefling. "Want to see if Duncan's got some of Sand's ale purgative stashed away?"

Neeshka nodded weakly. Supported by Brianna, the tiefling managed to get to her feet, tucking in the blanket. They made their way to the kitchen together.

"I've been thinking," Neeshka said while Brianna peered into cupboards. The tiefling had taken a seat on a convenient stool. "About the east."

"The east?" Brianna reached for a jar, stared at the label and then discarded it. Pickled ginger probably wouldn't help Neeshka's hangover.

"Yes. I bought a map. Have you heard of the Black Road?"

Toothpicks wouldn't be of any use either. Did her uncle ever organize his kitchen cupboards?

"No," Brianna admitted, determinedly pushing entire rows of containers aside with her forearm. "What is it?"

"A trade route. Clear across the Anauroch desert. We could go south to Waterdeep, travel east from there and hire on as caravan guards. That road'll take us all the way into the eastern half of Faerun, and from there we'd have everything open to us. The Dalelands, Cormyr or Sembia to the south, and further east there's the Sea of Fallen Stars. Did you know there's a group of islands called the Pirate Isles in the middle of it?"

Brianna's heart sank.

"Neesh," she said quietly, turning. The tiefling's eyes met hers.

"What's wrong?" Neeshka wanted to know. She sounded suddenly timid.

"Rilien." Brianna's mouth was dry. "I don't… I _can't_ leave him."

"He could come with," Neeshka offered generously.

Brianna stared at the sealed jar in her hands. Gods, it was difficult to say what she knew would disappoint Neeshka like little else. "I don't think he wants to leave the Mask."

She watched Neeshka's shoulders slump.

"So… we aren't going?" It was a reluctant realization, not a question.

"I still want to," Brianna confessed. "I want to see the Anauroch, and what's beyond. It's just…"

"I understand." Neeshka looked absolutely miserable. "I guess I just… I was looking forward to it."

"Me too." Swallowing hard, Brianna handed the jar over, watching as Neeshka twisted the lid off and drank.

"It's a selfish thing," the tiefling admitted suddenly. "I never had the money to travel, and it's difficult to do it all alone anyway, and I thought, well, I thought you and I together would be perfect."

Brianna knew the feeling only too well. She had been waiting to get away from West Harbor for years, dreaming of the world beyond. Neeshka had grown up in Neverwinter, doing the same. Both of them longed to see what else was out there.

"You never know," she said, turning to fill a glass with water from the pitcher. "Things might change."

"They might," Neeshka agreed, then stood and sighed. "Well, blast it. This certainly hasn't been a good morning so far. Hells."

As though it had been an invitation for the day to do its worst, one of the paneled windows exploded in a rain of shards.

Brianna added her glass of water to the chaos as she dropped it in order to protect her face. Neither of them were standing by the window, luckily, but they were both barefoot, and as Brianna finally dared to look, she saw that tiny bits of glass dusted the floor liberally.

"Oh bloody blasted hells," she cursed.

Neeshka darted out the door without a word. Moments later, Brianna could see her on the other side of the window, obviously trying to figure out what had happened.

"Anything?" she asked, and reached for the pile of dishtowels on the counter. She spread them over the shards, stepping carefully until she had reached the ruined window. The metal frame had been dented from the outside.

"Yes," Neeshka came closer. "A message, wrapped around a pavement brick. Pretty unimaginative, isn't it? They didn't even manage to get the damn thing _through_ the window."

"Who's it from?" Brianna demanded to know. "Because I'm pretty sure Duncan is going to want to shake them down for money to repair this mess."

The tiefling was silent for a moment as she unfolded the parchment. "Oh, hells, hells, hells."

"What?"

"Leldon."

Brianna frowned. "Your former mentor? I thought he learned his lesson."

"I'd hoped so, too. We robbed him fair and square, after all. But he… this… I…" Suddenly, Neeshka seemed to have lost all capability for speech. "_What?_" she screeched finally.

"What?"

"He's… oh, he's got nerves! He's challenging me."

Brianna stretched, trying to see the message through the broken window. "Challenging you to what?"

"A battle of thieves. Out of all the ridiculous things!"

"What, exactly," Brianna frowned, "is a battle of thieves?"

Neeshka scratched one of her horns. "Old Neverwinter tradition. He picks a mark, I have to rob it. If I make it, I get to pick a mark for him to rob, and if he makes that, the whole thing starts over. Until one of us gets caught."

"You aren't seriously thinking of taking him up on that, are you?" Brianna was starting to freeze with all the cold air coming through the window. She wished Neeshka would hurry back inside.

"But if I do," Neeshka said thoughtfully, "maybe he'll finally shut up. Or get himself arrested. Besides, I can't just let him go bragging about being the better thief."

_Yes you can,_ Brianna wanted to say, but it was difficult for her to disappoint the tiefling yet again.

"The Collector. I've heard of him. Has a lot of art. Should be interesting." Neeshka waved the note, grinning. "So, are you in?"

Hells. She couldn't really say no. Not now.

"Sure," Brianna sighed, only too aware that this was probably going to get a lot more complicated than Neeshka made it sound. But, then again, it wasn't like she really had anything better to do.

* * *

It was not until later, when everyone was assembled in the taproom for a hearty breakfast, that Brianna saw how far the consequences of the previous night's shenanigans extended.

Cormick was easily looking the worst. Not only did the marshal have to endure plenty of looks ranging from amused to scathing from those who had apparently seen him leave with Neeshka the night before, but he was also sitting directly across from Shandra. The woman's eyes were red-rimmed. She treated Cormick with icy disregard.

Qara was being tended to by Elanee. The sorceress hadn't handled the alcohol well, and still couldn't keep down any food. Duncan and Sal were looking only marginally better, both of them already cranky after having to block off the broken window and sweep shards of glass from the kitchen before breakfast. Grobnar had fallen asleep again over his plate of eggs and bacon.

Even Rilien was looking a touch exhausted. Brianna brought him food and drink, reversing their usual roles. By the time she sat down next to him, Neeshka had already engaged him in conversation.

"Parties, eh?" the tiefling was asking.

"Yes. Parties. Rather elaborate ones. Haven't been to one in a long time though." Rilien swallowed a bite while Brianna tried to figure out what they were discussing. "He likes to show off everything he has amassed. Out of curiosity, why is it you want to know about the Collector's habits?"

Neeshka's grin was as broad as Brianna had ever seen it. Before she could prevent it from happening, Neeshka had asked Rilien the question.

"Say, how'd you like to be part of a tiny little heist?"


	69. House of Cards

**House of Cards**

"I was wondering if I might ask a favor of you."

Brianna tried not to look like she was having second thoughts, steadying herself with one hand on the rough wood of the doorframe. In the room before her, Casavir looked up from his book.

"You certainly may, my lady" the paladin invited her, the stiffness of his words softened by a hint of a smile on his face. It made her wonder whether he had expected her visit.

"Captain Brelaina asked to see me." She raised her left hand, which was still holding the crumpled message. "I was hoping you might accompany me."

She wasn't asking him just to be social. She had spent the entirety of her time in the Flagon since the fight with Lorne, and after all of the gifts and messages she had received, and all of the gossip people had reported to her, she had no idea what things might be like once she stepped outside the doors of the inn. She hadn't much of a desire to brave it alone.

"It would be my honor," he said, and placed a bookmark between the pages with care before putting away his lecture. Turning the corner of her mouth up in a half-smile, Brianna waited for him to get his cloak. She hadn't expected any other answer.

Minutes later they were underway, Brianna realizing for the first time that the paladin had no idea how long his legs were. She was struggling to keep step. What should have been a leisurely walk across the Dolphin bridge into the Merchant district soon turned into a ridiculously one-sided race.

"Casavir," she finally gasped, leaping forward yet again. "Could you…"

He turned, looked at her mildly startled, and finally seemed to realize she was having trouble matching his pace. In the middle of the bridge, he stopped dead.

"Forgive me," he said, which was once again exactly what she had expected. Then he held out his arm for her to lean on while she caught her breath, stepping out of the way of an oncoming horsedrawn cart. "I was thinking."

"Quite thoroughly, it seems." She had grasped his arm with one hand, laying the other on the wooden bridge rail. "I thought we were going to have a talk."

"Yes." The paladin sounded as though someone was sitting on his chest. He was looking anywhere but at her. "Yes. You are correct."

"Course I am." She scrutinized his face, trying to figure out how to make this quick and painless for the both of them. Directness, she reminded herself.

"What happened between you and Ophala?"

It was as blunt and direct as she could be, and she watched him flinch. He withdrew his arm from hers then, and placed both of his hands on the guardrail as he turned to face the river.

"I wish I could excuse my actions with the folly of youth." There was a bitterness in his voice she had never heard there before. "But the truth is that the incident happened recently, not five years ago. I met her at a celebration, a small summer wedding I was given the honor of attending. We danced. She…"

His hands clenched the guardrail as though he thought he might fall. Brianna waited as he took a labored breath.

"She captivated me. I knew who she was, and I had not expected…"

Brianna nodded knowingly. She thought she had gotten a fairly good measure of the woman the few times she had met her. Ophala was beautiful, elegant and sophisticated, and at the same time sly and just as adept at seduction as her employees. Wrapped up into that sort of subtle manipulation, Brianna could not picture the paladin managing to offer much resistance.

"I did not realize the game she was playing until I found myself challenged. She pitted us against each other like dogs bred to fight."

"It was a game to her?" Brianna tried not to sound like she was doubting the paladin's words, even though she did. From what she knew of Ophala, the woman was nothing if not deliberate. She couldn't picture the owner of the Moonstone Mask seducing men for sport, and hurting feelings for her own entertainment. Brianna wouldn't have been surprised if there was more of a story behind the incident than Casavir realized.

"She ruined a lovely wedding day by orchestrating a duel to first blood." The paladin's brow furrowed. "By law, I could not refuse. There was drink involved, and poor judgment. My challenger was young, a lord's son, almost still a boy, and I regretted having to shame him before his family."

Brianna caught on to the discrepancy at once.

"Torio said it was a duel to the death," she pointed out. "Was she wrong?"

Casavir's eyes were fixed on something in the distance. Brianna hoped he wasn't contemplating jumping in the damn river rather than finish telling her his story. He appeared to be having a lot of trouble finding his next words.

"First blood, it was. I drew it first, a small cut through his sleeve. I still remember. But he would not lay down his weapon. He grew frenzied, unable to accept the outcome. He did not think clearly."

"He tried to kill you?" she asked, finally understanding.

Casavir swallowed hard, and nodded.

"We were too caught up in it, both of us. Once he went beyond first blood, I defended myself the way I would against any I thought worthy of death. His skill was lacking, and I… I reacted before I could think about the matter, before I realized…"

"You killed him."

"Yes." The paladin's voice was heavy with grief. "Yes."

For a long moment, they were both silent. Brianna stared at the water below, watching the slowly rippling waves passing beneath the bridge. There was a bit of wind, and she shivered, but at the same time she did not want to move away.

"Then what?" she wanted to know.

He actually turned to look at her. His steel blue eyes appeared to be trying to read something in her face.

"Then I left," he said simply. "The next morning. By law, I was not at fault, but I caused the loss of an innocent life nonetheless – me, who swore to protect the innocent, always. In my crisis, I sought Tyr's guidance, and he led me to the mountains. I fought, bandits at first, searching to kill those I knew to be guilty beyond a doubt. Then I encountered farmers who had suffered at the hands of the orc tribes, and I listened to their plight. I meant…"

His voice trailed off. From the corner of her eye, she saw the heaving of his chest. Not knowing what else to do, she reached for his hand on the guardrail and covered it with her own.

"I meant to die in battle," he eventually confessed. "Alone. But Katriona and many of the other farmers sought my leadership, and fought by my side."

Brianna nodded helplessly. Hells, she had not expected this to get so very personal. Casavir had just as good as bared his soul before her. She hadn't a clue how to react to it, or what to say. Luckily, he didn't appear to be waiting for her reaction. Once more he turned to stare at the horizon, and she was quite sure he was lost in his memories.

"After all of my doubts, killing orcs was a simple business, one that allowed my mind to come to rest. There was little need for me to think about the right and wrong of killing creatures who caused the deaths of so many."

_Katalmach_, Brianna remembered the name she had first known Casavir under, the best word the orcs had found to describe the man who lost himself in battle. She had seen it happen, and had wondered back then if he had a death wish. Now she knew.

"But you came back with me." She brushed the hair out of her face, frowning when she realized how little sense it made. "Back to Neverwinter. Why?"

"I prayed to Tyr for guidance once again," he said simply. "Despite my mistakes, he never abandoned me, and despite my reckless fighting, he never allowed any blade to end my life. I wondered whether this really was the end he had intended for me, and so I asked him to show me his will. The next day, I met you."

It took all the control she possessed not to make a face at that. How Casavir could believe someone like her to be sent by a god, she had no idea. But she was not about to protest his decision to follow her and lend her the might of his hammer.

"Ah," she said. "Right. The gods do work in mysterious ways."

"Indeed," he agreed. Her skepticism seemed to be lost on him. "I have been granted a second chance through Tyr himself, and through you as well, my lady."

She was still fitting puzzle pieces in her head. This had to be the reason why he had refused to seek out Neverwinter's nobles on her behalf – because he had killed one of their number, and had not known how many of them had heard about the duel during the time that had passed. Holed up in the Sunken Flagon, or traveling through the wilderness with her, he had been reasonably safe from discovery – until Torio had exposed his past to all of Neverwinter, of course. But considering it now, Brianna thought that the ambassador's harsh words had perhaps even been helpful. Now, Casavir had little left to worry about. His secret was out in the open, and maybe the lack of a reaction from everyone they met would get him to stop thinking that he had committed an unforgivable crime.

"Well, thank you," she said eventually. "For what it's worth, I am glad you are here, helping me, working off your… debt." She felt a little guilty, manipulating him like this. Then again, if he thought he had deeds to atone for, who was she to deny him the opportunity? She sure as the hells wasn't about to tell him that he was delusional and should stop being so hung up on the mistakes of one spoiled noble who had gotten himself killed mostly through his own stupidity.

"I am glad to have been given the opportunity." He turned fully towards her, finally letting go of the wooden rail. "I do not wish to be the cause of you missing your meeting, however." He offered her his arm once more.

Captain Brelaina. Right. She had almost forgotten where they had been going in the first place. Nodding, she accepted his arm, and they finished crossing the bridge, making their way finally into the Merchant district. The streets were fairly busy, and Brianna noticed more than one head turning as she passed by. She guessed that it would take at least a couple of weeks for the trial to become old news, at which point she would hopefully receive slightly less attention, if not manage to fade back into obscurity.

The watchmen at the doors of the City Watch headquarters saluted as one as they passed. Despite her lack of a uniform, Brianna did not have to identify herself, which she supposed was one of the few positive effects of her recent fame. She hurried through the hallways with Casavir following behind her, trying to ignore the open stares of those they encountered on their way. The building appeared to have grown to twice its size, and it seemed to take longer than usual until she reached the office of Captain Brelaina. Its door stood open, and the guard next to it waved her inside. Casavir stood back, obviously intending to wait outside.

"…not about to admit that," someone was finishing his sentence. "As far as they are concerned, the Luskan threat is over with the withdrawal of the Hosttower mages from Neverwinter."

"I assure you that he is, in fact, taking the situation seriously." Captain Brelaina's voice was sharp as a rapier. Brianna had not had a chance to speak to the woman since her trial, and made a mental note to remember to thank her superior for the high praise she had heaped on Brianna during her time on the witness stand.

The captain was standing in front of her desk, facing a man she had not met before, but who appeared to be a captain, judging by the insignia on his cloak. They were old and rather dented, suggesting he had held the rank for a while. Also in the room was a fellow Lieutenant whom she recognized as having been part of her guard the night of the trial, as well as three recruits who all looked to be battle-hardened.

"Excellent," the captain beamed, nodding at Brianna as she approached. "Please close the door behind you, Lieutenant. We will get straight to business, as I do not wish to take up much of your time."

Brianna followed orders, and found a place near the wall to stand. She had expected Brelaina to inform her of whatever decision she had made regarding Brianna's service with the Watch, not to be included in some semi-secret meeting.

"I am certain you are all familiar with Lieutenant – pardon, _Squire_ Storm. This here is Captain Ballard, who has eight years experience in leading watchcloaks on special assignments for our Lord Nasher. Lieutenant Rookes, Recruits Gibbons, Gray, and Fuller." She indicated each of the men with a nod of her head. "The reason I have called you all to this meeting is because of the matter of Luskan. Most of Neverwinter, as well as many of our own watchcloaks, believe that dealing with Luskan trouble will be taking a backseat, now that the ambassador and all associates of the Hosttower have been banned from the city. However, nothing could be further from the truth."

Here, the captain leaned back and picked up the pile of what looked very much like reports from her desk. As she leafed through them, Brianna recognized one in her own handwriting.

"These are reports of incidents that began long before Luskan ever thought to frame Squire Storm for the crime of Ember. All of them detail encounters with human males wearing black robes and masks, possessing the ability to raise the undead as well as other dark divine powers. Fort Locke to the south had trouble with straying undead until they located and slew one of these priests in a nearby graveyard. The fort's commander was killed in the process. Fort Travers to the east has reported a similar incident. Two of the reports are from Squire Storm herself, who slew a priest in the ruins near Highcliff, and another in an orc lair near Old Owl Well, in the Sword Mountains. Another sighting of one of these shadow priests near a lake to the northeast of Neverwinter was reported by a druidess, and there has been reported trouble with undead in the Neverwinter Wood as well. Recruits Gray and Fuller were present when yet another shadow priest was found in a graveyard just outside the city gates just over a tenday ago, though he unfortunately evaded capture."

The reports hit the desk with a loud smacking noise. Brelaina glared down at them.

"Luskan is playing us for fools," the captain announced with badly suppressed fury. "They claim that these shadow priests are not associated with them, and now that we have put pressure on them, they point the finger at a man named Garius, the one who supposedly styles himself the Master of the Fifth Tower. They also claim not to be able to find this man, whom they are doubtlessly sheltering in the heart of Luskan, if not the Hosttower itself."

_Garius._ Finally, they had a name for the one who had been behind the plot of Ember, whom Torio Claven and Lorne had undoubtedly been taking their instructions from. Brianna wondered faintly whether she should feel murderous rage at the mention, but she couldn't bring herself to waste the emotion. She just wanted the man far, far away from her, preferably ignoring her completely.

"The shadow priests have been creating problems for us. For one, they disturb our graveyards and use our own fallen forces against us. In order to avoid loss of life, they must be defeated quickly once they are discovered. We are currently concerned about the priest still on the loose possibly hiding within Neverwinter walls, and in order to be able to capture him, we will need your cooperation."

Brianna crossed her arms before her chest. Bloody hells, she hadn't even officially returned to active duty yet, but the captain assumed she was ready to put her life on the line once more.

"Cooperation with what?" one of the recruits wanted to know, staring uneasily. Brianna was glad she was not the only one unhappy to hear this.

"Patrols," Brelaina explained. "You all have proven yourselves more than capable in combat and leadership. We want to step up patrols near tombs, crypts and graveyards within the city. Each one of you will be armed with everything the Watch can provide to aid against the shadow priests."

It sounded like quite the task. Brianna knew there were a huge amount of old crypts within city limits, and even more fresh graveyards stemming from the time of the plague and the Neverwinter-Luskan war just a few years ago.

"We are also looking for more information on the priests." Captain Brelaina busied herself passing out a number of neatly tied white linnen bundles to the assembled watchcloaks. "How they communicate with this Garius, what their exact goals are, how they came into the power they have. Any small details you may learn will be helpful."

Brianna peeked into her bundle. Its contents seemed to consist of a number of small vials, some of which glowed with silver light.

"That is all," Brelaina announced, dismissing them. "Brianna, Andrey, please stay for another moment."

As the others filed out of the room, Brianna stepped forward. Captain Ballard approached the desk as well, his angular face in a frown.

"Leading patrols?" he asked, giving Brelaina a look. "Really, Celestine?"

_Celestine Brelaina? Hells, no wonder the captain keeps her first name under wraps. _

Brianna bit her tongue. Despite her effort, Brelaina appeared to have read her thoughts and shot her a pointed look.

"Obviously I won't be sending you on patrols, Andrey. To start with, I don't have the authority, and your talents would be wasted on it. But I do want you to know what is going on. Nasher and the Nine agree that this matter needs to be dealt with, else the shadow priest threat may spiral out of control. Along with the Blacklake murderer…"

"I thought we caught that one," Brianna interrupted.

Both captains shook their heads. "There has not been a murder in some time, this is true, but we never apprehended the person responsible," Ballard admitted. "It is entirely possible he – or she – is lying in wait until the majority of our forces are once again occupied elsewhere. My team and I are currently on standby, waiting for any hint of that individual's renewed activity."

"Depending on whether or not the shadow priest situation escalates, we may need your help," Brelaina told him. "Hence I wanted you to be aware of the situation."

Ballard rubbed his temples. "What about her, then?" he asked, nodding towards Brianna. "She's not exactly low profile, is she?"

Brianna found herself agreeing. If she stepped back into her watchcloak uniform so soon, she would draw undue attention to the operation.

"She is not, technically, a member of the Watch at this time," Brelaina finally answered the question that Brianna had entered the room with. "However, through her service to Sir Corett, she also serves the city as a squire, and as she has fought two of the priests, her experience is invaluable."

Brianna tried to keep up. "So I still work for you, but now through… Sir Corett?"

"Lord Nasher is your overlord." Brelaina looked slightly amused. "Had they not gotten around to telling you any of this yet? No matter. Nasher is lending you to the Watch, classified as a special forces asset."

"Technically, that would put her under my command," Captain Ballard thought out loud.

Brianna's head spun. "Are you two quite finished figuring out who I am actually taking my orders from?" she snapped.

Brelaina laid a hand on her shoulder. "Easy, Brianna. Lord Nasher, as I said, is your overlord, and his word may place you wherever you need to be in the chain of command. Currently, you will be reporting to me."

That was clear enough for now. Mollified, Brianna stepped back.

"To get back to the point, we do not want you back in your uniform. Acting as a civilian, you may be privy to details that the rest of the watchcloaks do not get to see. As you have your own associates, which I believe you would be more effective working with, please know that we will pay them for their time if they chose to help you."

It was a fair offer, telling her that she could, in effect, recruit her own team. Still, Brianna did not appreciate being put back to work so quickly.

"Very well," she sighed, shrugging. "If that is all, _Celestine_, I'd like to take my leave."

As she left, Captain Ballard's dark chuckle rang in her ears.

* * *

They returned to the Flagon to find an obviously excited Neeshka, nearly tripping over a barstool as she hurried to greet Brianna.

"I need to talk to you," the tiefling announced, ignoring Casavir completely and grasping Brianna's hand. "Now. It's urgent."

Brianna let her friend pull her into the kitchen. Neeshka slammed the door shut, turned, and raised her hands.

"I've found us some accomplices," she announced with a grand gesture.

Brianna's brain was not up to full speed. "Accomplices?" she asked lamely. "We need… accomplices?"

"Course we do, for an actual big heist… not that I've ever actually pulled off something like this, but in theory, it should all go swimmingly. I've worked out a plan. You just need to help me with the details. Anyway, I went to the Moonstone Mask earlier, to ask your puppy a few more questions about the Collector, and it turns out that another of the girls just went to one of the parties there, a few weeks ago. He throws a lot of parties, you see, to show off all of his art. With the information I got off Evlyn, we should be able to plot the perfect robbery!"

Brianna found a chair to sit. "Oh, goodie," she said weakly. Neeshka was far too enthusiastic about this entire thing.

"So then I asked around, and it turns out that the Collector isn't all that popular, and on top of that, once I mentioned it was a plot to foil Leldon and Tasha, they were all willing to help! And then…"

Brianna was not about to risk Rilien's profession and reputation on Neeshka's insane heist. She raised her hand. "Neesh," she said, causing the tiefling to fall silent. "One condition. We need the kind of plan that won't allow anyone helping us to come to harm. They need to appear blameless. We'll have to go about this very cleverly."

"Right," the tiefling agreed eagerly. "We can share a little of the gold too, if they want, but not too much. Here, you look through this, tell me if it all makes sense to you." She handed over a square of parchment that had more ink on it than empty space. Brianna had no idea what any of it meant.

"Neesh," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache coming on, along with all of these new, unexpected challenges. "Don't get me wrong, but this might take a while. Maybe we should sit down together tonight, rework the entire thing a bit, hm?"

She wished there was a chance of talking the tiefling out of this. The Collector, from what both Neeshka and Rilien had told her, had extensive security in his home and guarded all of his collection zealously. He had never been robbed, as far as anyone could remember. But Neeshka didn't even appear to want to consider giving up.

So now she had a heist to plan and incognito patrols to run. At least she wouldn't be complaining about having nothing to do.


	70. Boy Trouble

**Boy Trouble**

"Out of curiosity," Brianna asked, digging in her coinpurse for a copper, "why is it you need gold so badly?"

"None of your gods-damned business." Qara wore her usual scowl.

"It is, actually, seeing as I'm the one who'll be paying you." Having found the coin, Brianna flipped it towards little Dory, who was perched on the marble edge of the fountain. The girl caught it deftly and grinned at them. She seemed content, sitting there, messy hair fluttering in the cool spring breeze, watching for trouble just as Brianna had instructed her.

"Fine. I want…" For the first time since Brianna had known the sorceress, she witnessed Qara actually lowering her voice. "I want a robe. A real sorcerer's robe."

"Why?"

"_Why?_ Because I hate walking around in these rags is why. Because a tavern wench doesn't get respect from anyone. I want people to know what I can do when they look at me."

For the first time, it occurred to Brianna that Qara should have been the one going through the trial. The sorceress would have loved the fame and notoriety. When it came to actual power, Brianna would have much preferred to be underestimated than the other way round, but she was not about to point that out to Qara. Maybe it would be a good thing to have the girl wearing a robe that would warn everyone a mile away that a crazy bitch was about to try and burn them to ash.

"Ah," was the only thing she said out loud.

"Not that you'd understand." Qara reached into the bag of roasted nuts they had just bought. "You haven't got any power to speak of."

Brianna couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes, you caught me. Truth is, I tickled the Luskan to death. Don't tell anyone."

"I didn't mean that kind of power," Qara pointed out, sounding rather irritated. "Who else do you know that can burn ten orcs to cinders before you can even blink?"

"Don't know," Brianna admitted and fished the bag of nuts from Qara's grasp. "Some of the Many-Starred Cloaks, I imagine."

"Yeah, those that have studied dusty old tomes for years. The rest of them have trouble lighting a candle. Back at the academy, they _made_ me study, even though I had more raw power than my teachers."

The roasted nuts were excellent. Chewing, Brianna made a mental note to keep that particular street vendor in mind.

"I suppose they might have wanted you to learn how better to direct that power," Brianna started on an argument she was pretty sure she would regret.

"Direction is useless! When I burn things, what does it matter to me if a nearby roof goes up in flames? Whatever I wanted to burn will still burn."

"Well yes, and when I bushwhack through a hedge with my swords, I might accidentally butcher some rose bushes. That isn't what I meant though." Brianna squinted, trying to find a good way to make her point. "Alright. For lack of a better analogy, take the fight between me and the Luskan. He had enough strength and skill to cleave me in two, yet I beat him."

"I would have had him torched in a second."

Brianna sighed. Subtlety was completely lost on the sorceress.

"That isn't how an analogy works. Imagine you're in the middle of a mage duel. I'm pretty sure another mage that knows how much you like fire would have an easy time finding spells to counter yours. Think about it. When your fire doesn't work, do you still know how to win?"

Qara fell silent, actually appearing to ponder the question. Another first. They had patrolled the Blacklake district together for over a week, keeping an eye on the graveyards and crypts in the area, but most of that time they had spent in silence. The sorceress tossed another handful of nuts into her mouth and chewed, head still tilted thoughtfully.

Brianna never did get to hear Qara's answer, however, because Shandra and Khelgar were making their way past the gleaming façade of the temple of Lathander across the square. The blond woman waved rather excitedly.

"Heard it yet?" she wanted to know, shouting. "One of the Cloaktower mages passed us, back by Coneth's Hill. Said they might have found the shadow priest."

"What, just now?" Qara asked rather anxiously. Brianna was not surprised by the girl's eagerness. Qara had spent the entirety of the last week trying to earn the bonus Brelaina had promised for the priest's capture. Apparently, when the sorceress had a goal in mind, she turned into a surprisingly hard worker. She had even been the one to suggest that the group split up into teams of two in order to cover more ground.

"Did he say whether they needed any help?" Brianna wanted to know, then answered her own question. "Well, it's the Cloaktower mages. They should be just fine. It's just as well for us to call it a day with the patrolling, since we've got plans this night."

"Maybe we should check though," Qara suggested.

Brianna tried to hide a grin. She had never seen the girl so eager to help out before, and it was a sight to remember. Qara noisily rolled up the bag of roasted nuts and tucked it into her cloth satchel, still looking antsy, but before the group could debate on whether or not to make their way down to Coneth's Hill, the decision was taken out of their hands.

"Got somethin'!" Dory announced from near the fountain.

Brianna turned, not having the heart to tell the children she had employed as her eyes and ears throughout the week that their mission was probably over.

"Out with it," she demanded, handing over another coin. Dory took a deep breath.

"Pip just tol' me that Alec tol' him that Wolf said there was something goin' on over at the crypts on Arnrock Road. He said it looked important."

"Right." Brianna counted out three more coppers, one for each informant in the chain. She had realized over the past week that the children, being so used to carrying messages, did a very good job of passing on information quickly and efficiently. On top of it, the bit of coin she paid them came directly from the Watch coffers. It was an arrangement from which everyone benefited.

"Arnrock Road?" Shandra asked. "Aren't these all private crypts? Not very likely we'll find shadow priests hiding out in one of these, is it?"

"Nonetheless, that's what we are getting paid for, after all." Brianna shrugged. If the Cloaktower Mages were in fact apprehending the shadow priest they had been looking for at this very moment, she had no desire to get closer. Two encounters with the creepy clerics had been more than enough for her, and if Brelaina hadn't half-forced her into this assignment, she might have refused it. Better to occupy herself checking out whatever Dory's little gang had discovered.

It took them a good five minutes to make their way to Arnrock Road, a calm side street in the otherwise bustling district. Brianna might not even have been aware of the fact that there were crypts here if the four of them hadn't researched them all so extensively. They passed through a wrought-iron gate into a shadowy garden nearly overgrown with vegetation. Moss had settled on the low, crumbling stone walls that marked the walkways. Brianna caught herself thinking that Elanee might have enjoyed this spot, an oasis of calm and nature in the middle of the city.

"Where's that disturbance she mentioned, then?" Shandra asked. Just as she finished the question, they heard a high-pitched shriek.

Brianna sprinted into the direction the sound had come from, leaping across the stones, rounding a hedge and dodging a number of low-hanging branches. Then she skidded to a halt in the dewy grass, and felt rather foolish.

A little girl clad in blue velvet was in the middle of an age-appropriate tantrum. "Why is she so stupid?" she shouted at the top of her lungs, wresting one velvet slipper off her foot and slapping it against the wall. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Dory's friend, the boy named Wolf, watched the spectacle from his vantage point atop the wall, wearing an expression of complete bewilderment.

"Oh great. That seems like the perfect use of our time," Qara noted, tone piled high with sarcasm.

The girl spun around so fast that one of her dark blond pigtails was carried straight across her face by the momentum.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded to know, suddenly sounding perfectly composed, and quite sure of herself. "This is private property."

"That's who I told you would come to help, Kyli," Wolf told her. The boy appeared to be getting a bit annoyed with the little noble's antics – and she certainly was a noble, Brianna thought. If the tailored velvet dress and matching slippers hadn't given it away, her demeanor certainly did.

"What's the problem, exactly?" Brianna was getting the feeling that she might come to regret asking. She had a hare-brained heist to prepare for, and little time to cater to the needs of spoiled little girls.

"It's my sister," the girl explained, making quite the act of shaking the dirt from her slipper and replacing it on her foot. "She's _stupid_."

"She's making trouble for Kyli," Wolf elaborated. "Sneaking down into the crypt with her friends."

"And _boys_." Kyli said the word as though it was some sinister curse. "And I know _something_ bad is happening today, because she stole some of auntie's perfume and spent an hour brushing her hair."

"It's not one of them priests you were looking for, I know, but the adults don't ever listen to anyone our age, noble or not." The boy didn't even have the decency to look ashamed.

"Wolf," Brianna growled, and he shrugged, ripping out a blade of grass that had grown between the rocks and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder.

"Well it's true," he said.

"So what exactly is the problem here?" Shandra asked. "Her sister's down in that crypt?"

"It's our family crypt," Kyli explained. "Lisbeth stole the key from father, and now she always goes down there with her friends, Raven and Savannah, and they've got boys down there too, and it's just all really gross!" She shuddered. "And she's started dressing differently and talking about kissing and a lot of other weird stuff that she shouldn't be talking about."

They were all silent for a moment. Kyli was staring at them all in turn, looking expectant. Brianna bit her lip, not wanting to be the first to break the news to Kyli.

"I don't see the problem," Shandra finally confessed. "Sounds like, well, anyone I know when they were growing up. Granted, we didn't have crypts at Highcliff, just barns and a whole lot of hay bale mazes, but… "

"She's _kissing_! _Boys_!" Kyli's cheeks were glowing. "Mother would turn in her grave if she knew! And you don't know Raven, she's evil, plain evil. She told me once that she'd kill me and make it look like an accident!"

There was more awkward shifting. Khelgar had propped his chin onto the handle of his axe and appeared befuddled at the entire matter. Qara, as always, looked sullen and moody and generally unhappy to be standing there. Shandra seemed to want to help the girl, but didn't appear to know how to go about it.

Brianna wanted to leave. She didn't have the patience to lecture little girls on the fine points of growing up, and she certainly had no desire to lecture teenagers on proper behavior, either. Still, Wolf and the others had been doing good, cheap work for her, and she didn't want to lose her little band of informants because their leader was upset with her.

"Fine," she sighed, and dropped her bag, digging in it. She'd brought along her folded watchcloak just in case, and maybe the boys and girls in the crypt would be properly chastised when they were told off by an authority figure. If not, she figured she could always scare them by having Qara set something on fire. "I'll have them up here in a moment, but I haven't got the time to tell your father about it. You can figure that part out yourself."

"Okay," Kyli nodded. "You can hurt Raven if you have to," she added seriously, when Brianna had already wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and stretched out her hand for the handle of the heavy metal door set into the grey brick wall. _Bryce_ was the name engraved above the door.

"I'll keep that in mind," Brianna promised rather dryly.

"So, do we know what we're walking into here?" Shandra asked as they descended the narrow, crumbling stairs. "I mean, how old are these girls? Are they going to be kissing, or, you know, um…"

"Hells, I hope not." Qara sounded mildly disgusted. "This place smells moldy."

Khelgar only grunted. "Smells like any old dwarven tunnel I've ever walked," he opined.

Brianna was first to reach the end of the stairs and followed the flickering shine of torchlight around a corner. Then she closed her eyes and silently mouthed a swearword.

One girl was perched atop a wooden coffin, skirts bunched up around her thighs, hands roaming beneath the black overcoat of a boy standing in front of her. Another couple was standing in a corner, hidden in semi-darkness. They appeared to be having arms _and_ legs wrapped around each other. Brianna really wished that someone else could have been the one to walk in on such a scene.

She cleared her throat. A high-pitched squeak of protest rang out in answer, followed by a whole lot of scrambling.

"Who in the hells are you?" one of the boys, who couldn't have been much older than sixteen, demanded to know in a tone as though he owned the place.

"I'm the one shooing you out of here." Brianna made the matching hand motions. "Cuddle time's over."

"You've got no right to do that!" This was one of the girls, still hastily pushing down her tangled dark gauze skirts. She looked flustered and appeared to be blushing, with her hair entirely in disarray.

"Sure I do." Brianna tapped her insignia with one fingernail. "Now do yourselves a favor and point me in the direction of Lisbeth Bryce, will you?"

Petulant stares were all the answers she got. Brianna rolled her eyes. She wasn't all that much older than these four, but she was quite certain she'd never acted this much of a fool.

"Suit yourselves," she sighed, crossing the room. "I'll find Lisbeth myself and then we can herd you lot out of here all together if you haven't found some sense by then." She hoped they would take the hint and make their way upstairs before she returned. Part of her itched to backhand all of them a few good times.

She stepped through the doorway into a dimly lit corridor. Like most crypts in the Neverwinter area, this one had been built to lay almost completely underground. It was impossible to tell just how large the place actually was. Brianna hoped she would not have to run through musty tunnels for too much longer before she found the rest of the group. Faintly, she wished she would have thought to ask Kyli for an estimate of how many people were hiding out down here.

The next of the pubescent troublemakers found Brianna by smacking straight into her. Reflexes taking over, Brianna had the frail blond girl against a wall and one hand on her sword before she remembered that drawing steel probably wasn't entirely appropriate.

"Where's Lisbeth? Are you Lisbeth?" she asked, hoping to scare an answer out of her victim before she had time to think. The girl shook her head and furrowed her brow, which made her look rather unattractive.

"Lisbeth's wi-with Arval, further back. But… who are you?"

"Who are _you_?" Brianna fired back.

"I'm Sa-savannah. But…"

So this was one of the sister's friends Kyli had mentioned. Determined, Brianna held on to the girl's collar. It was a bit awkward because Savannah was taller than her, apparently one of those girls that shot up like a weed just as they started to become a woman. Still, Lisbeth's friend was so delicate that it gave Brianna little trouble to hold on to her.

"Right, Savannah. You and I are going to go find Lisbeth."

"But…"

"Let's go." Brianna yanked. Savannah yelped and stumbled forward, following alongside.

They crossed the room and entered yet another tunnel, which made Shandra groan with disgust.

"Ugh, nothing like cobwebs and decay to set the mood. And I always thought I was missing out, growing up in the country."

"Half the rooms in the academy smelled like this," Qara muttered. "Just as stuffy as everyone who lives there."

"Yes, but did people use those for secret trysts?"

The sorceress shook herself, looking utterly horrified. "Oh fiery hells, I hope not."

They hurried on. Their steps resounded dully through the narrow tunnel-like passageways. Every once in a while, one of them caught the edge of their boot on the uneven floor tiles and stumbled. Eventually, Brianna figured she might as well use her time wisely while they walked and interrogate the girl she was dragging along.

"So how long's this been going on?" she wanted to know. "Kissing boys in crypts?"

"Not long." The girl still sounded terrified. "Please, Raven will kill me if I tell you anything."

"Raven sounds like she could use a few good smacks on her backside," Shandra muttered. Brianna silently agreed. Considering what Kyli had told her, that made two people who appeared to be afraid of this girl.

"You should consider a different meeting place if you're going to keep this nonsense up," she informed Savannah then. "Gravesites around here haven't been exactly safe, lately. And for the sake of the upper planes, stop wearing black like you worship Mask or Cyric." Indeed, there had been far too many shadow priests making themselves at home wherever the dead were laid to rest, and it wouldn't be a pretty sight if one of them found this group of youths and decided to kill them for fun and practice. Then again, if they kept acting like rude, spoiled brats, Brianna couldn't see herself shedding very many tears for them.

Lost in her thoughts, she missed the movement in one particularly dark corner until it was almost too late. _Something_ warned her of the danger, maybe just her instincts or the hint of foulness in the stale air, and she shoved Savannah aside and drew her swords just in time to meet what was suddenly coming at her.

It was an arm. Rotten, with skin hanging off it like loose fabric, the appendage shot out towards her. Brianna swiped at it, and the weapon in her right hand, the magically sharp one, lopped it off at the elbow. She backed up two quick steps as the rest of the undead creature came into view.

As far as zombies went, this was not a particularly impressive one. It was moving slowly and sluggishly, as though it had trouble figuring out how to use its limbs. Nobody was generous enough to give it time to learn. Just as Brianna readied herself for another attack, the creature's head burst into flames, and a large dwarven waraxe cleaved deeply into the green and black flesh of its chest. Stumbling backwards under the force of the impact, the undead creature sank to its knees, moaning eerily all the while. When it hit the ground, a cloud of age-old dust rose into the air.

"Oh goddess." Shandra sounded revolted. "That… what…?"

The stench coming from the smoldering remains was one of the worst Brianna had ever encountered, and she nearly retched. She sheathed her one unused sword and covered her mouth and nose with her free hand.

"See!" she snapped at Savannah, who was cowering against the dusty wall, through the palm of her hand. "This is exactly what I was talking about."

The girl was shivering with fear. Brianna stared at her for a moment longer, waiting for some sort of a reply that never came, and finally rolled her eyes with disgust and turned away.

She found her way blocked by yet another young woman wearing black. A plunging neckline revealed far more pasty white skin than might have been considered decent by most standards. The dusty hem of a full silk skirt brushed against black leather shoes. Despite this girl's features being half-obscured by the glossy dark hair falling into her face and the lack of decent lighting, Brianna could tell she was scowling.

"Raven, I presume?" she ventured a guess.

"Savannah, _what_ are you doing?" the girl demanded to know, ignoring Brianna.

"Nothing," whimpered the fragile blond girl, still pressed tightly against the wall. "I'm sorry, Raven! They just came in and I… I…"

"Oh, you complete idiot!" Something looking very much like a tiny blue spark shot out from Raven's index finger and hit Savannah squarely in the chest. The girl convulsed, as though in pain. Behind Brianna's back, either Shandra or Qara gasped.

"Do you know how long I worked on raising that thing? Do you know how much it took out of me? No, you don't, because you're just dumb as a pavement slab, and you'll always be stupid and useless!"

Another miniature lightning bolt passed between the two girls, aimed at Savannah's arm. This time, the girl cradled her own body and shook violently against the rough stones. Eventually, slumping, she began to cry.

"You ugly troll, Savannah!" Raven hissed.

Brianna just stared. Her mind was telling her that she should interfere, that something very untoward was going on here. Her body, though, was frozen in place.

Shandra was the first one to find her voice.

"You've been raising these… these… _what_ is wrong with you?"

Raven's head snapped up. She stared daggers at them all in turn, for the first time acknowledging their existence. When she spoke, there was a tremble in her low voice.

"You've ruined all my work, you nitwits, you complete…"

Brianna only just caught the wild look in the girl's eyes, some manner of dawning realization. Then Raven turned on her heels and started running.

"Arval!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, and vanished around a corner, long dress billowing after her.

Brianna started after her. Her mind couldn't quite make sense of it all yet, but there was no time to think it through. All that mattered was the fact that the girl Raven had been the one to raise the disgusting pile of flesh that had attacked Brianna, and that the wannabe necromancer was fleeing and had to be stopped before things went any more wrong. Brianna had no idea whether any of her companions were following, but she dared not look back for fear of losing sight of the fleeting figure she was pursuing.

She rounded corner after corner, passing through more narrow passageways than she cared to keep track of, trying to ignore the cobwebs that brushed her face. The place was a bloody maze. Drawing ragged breaths, Brianna realized that the air was growing more and more stale the further she progressed into the crypt, just as the walls looked less and less stable and there were more loose bits of rock on the ground for her to stumble over.

Then she had reached the central burial chamber. It made her wish that she had just turned around at the first sign of trouble, marched back up the stairs and locked the door behind her to leave these troublesome youths with whatever undead Bryce ancestors they wished to raise on a whim.

The octagonal room was as gloomy as the rest of the crypt, and also just as bare apart from several pillars and a handful of dusty stone coffins lining the walls. One particularly large one sat centered on the tiled floor. There was no other furniture present, which explained, perhaps, why Lisbeth Bryce had chosen the central coffin - likely housing the remains of one of her ancestors - upon which to lose the last of her innocence.

Kyli's older sister was laying on the rough stone surface like on a silver platter. She resembled her sister very much in looks, down to the freckles and upturned nose, which Brianna only fully realized when Lisbeth lifted her head and looked at her. She was nude. Brianna could only just make out the streaks of what she was pretty sure was blood smeared along the girl's pale inner thighs. She couldn't help but stare, disgusted and dumbfounded.

She thought the floor had been pulled out from under her. Her insides felt as though she had just swallowed several chunks of ice. The scene evoked memories she couldn't afford to deal with just now, diving into her mind and dragging them all brutally to the surface. She tried to get her breathing under control, reminded herself that she needed to focus, and tried to cram all of the unwelcome emotions back into the little corner of her mind where she'd had them locked away. Still, the sensations of filth and wrongness lingered.

The black-clad man that had presumably been in the process of coupling with the older Bryce girl had been pulled away by Raven, who was urgently clutching his robe with both hands and saying something Brianna could not make out.

Then the male turned and displayed not only all of his body through the gap in his robe, but also the bizarre mask he was wearing. Brianna had seen that sort of a mask only twice before.

"Shit," she breathed, finally escaping her paralysis, and sprinted for cover just as the shadow priest raised his hands and began to cast a spell.


End file.
